Fire Born

By Michael Morten

The fire should have killed her; instead the 12-year-old girl emerged phoenix-like from the flames. That was the real beginning, but for me it started with a death.

1983. There are two things Michael knows for certain. There is no such thing as magic and life cannot get any worse. In the middle of planning to buy a flat together, his girl friend has announced she is off to India with a yoga teacher. His job is in jeopardy and the person he least wants to meet has invited him to a party. Then everything changes, he meets Maureen, the girl of his dreams. In a short time they are engaged and Michael promoted.

Just weeks before their wedding, Michael learns Maureen has for years been a member of an occult group. Now they want her dead. When the curse is fulfilled, he is forced to come to terms with a secret that has haunted him since childhood.

In his search for the truth, he meets an old man with inexplicable powers who sets Michael on a desperate journey that will take him from living on the streets of London to the home of a multi-millionaire. From begging for food to dining with royalty. From a nameless horror that stalks a ruined church to the bed of a super model.

A covert CIA project, a 3000-year-old conspiracy, a mysterious stranger who worked with Denis Wheatley and Aliester Crowley on a secret wartime venture,  a group sworn to protect an ancient secret with their lives all have their parts to play in a story that mixes fact and fantasy.

Approx. 88000 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Morten
• Release date: Oct 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386991038

Book preview

Prologue

1972

Born in Fire

The young girl shivers.

It is cold for May and a light breeze plucks at the thin, white cotton gown. Somewhere an owl hoots and the girl gives another shiver, not just from the cold. A length of red cord binds her hands behind her back and a thick crimson scarf covers her eyes.

She is twelve years old.

How long she has been standing there, not moving, barely daring to breathe, the girl has no idea. Time has lost all meaning.

Her ears strain for the slightest sound to show she is not alone. Soon they would come and the waiting would be over. The thought fills her again with a mixture of fear and excitement.

Soon, it had to be soon.

The waiting was worse than anything the girl could have imagined. In the darkness of the blindfold, her hearing had become more acute. The ordinary sounds of the night transforming themselves into the cries and calls of unknown terrors.

The journey from the house had been its own nightmare. Trapped in her world of darkness and without her hands to steady herself, the girl had stumbled at every step. Twice she had fallen, the second time she had almost cried out. Only managing to choke back the cry as her grandmother jerked her upright. Tears pricked the back of her eyes but she knew she had to go on. She knew she had to be strong and brave.  She must not be a baby. If she could not walk across a field without blubbering, how could she expect to pass the Ordeal?

Finally, hardly able to walk, her grandmother had been forced to drag her. Sharp stones sliced at her bare feet and by the time they reached the Place, she was barely able to hold back a cry each time her foot touched the ground. Only the squeeze of the woman's fingers on her arm and her own determination not to give in, kept back the tears.

We are here, her grandmother's voice was barely a whisper. There was a catch in the woman's voice as she gave the girls' arm a final squeeze. Be brave Little One.

Then the girl was alone with only the sounds of the night for company. The rustle of wind in the trees, the buzz of an insect. Seconds passed as minutes; minutes as hours. At first, the girl found reassurance in the sounds; they were telling her she was not alone. Grasping at the thought, she clung to it like a life raft.

As time passed, a new dread permeated her. Suppose they did not come? Fear swam like sharks to snatch at her. The life raft no longer a place of safety but a trap. Suppose, they just left her? What could she do? A fresh wave of panic washed over her. Her hands were tightly tied. She could walk, but she could not see. If she tried to move, she might fall and injure herself. Is that what they wanted? For her to fall, injure, perhaps kill herself. Make it seem all an accident? She held her breath and waited, listening.

A mile away in the village, the church clock struck a quarter to midnight and somewhere a dog begun to howl, the cry almost immediately taken up by a second and then a third. It had been less than half-an-hour since her grandmother had helped her undress and put on the white gown. Standing obediently, allowing the woman to bind her hands, pulling the cord tightly enough to make the girl gasp. Finally, covering her eyes with the blindfold.

The nightmare had begun.

Everyone had thought she would be spending the holiday at her grandmother's as she always did, but this holiday was to be different. A part of the secret they both shared. Their own, special secret.

The girl had no real uncles, but there were two men she called uncle. One was uncle Toby; the other owned the house they had gone to, the one she called her Secret Uncle because the fact they visited him had be kept secret.

Her Secret Uncle's house was big and cold, not like her grandmother's, that was always warm and comforting, but then that was in another country. Thinking about her grandmother's house always made the girl feel better. At school, it helped her get through the days knowing that what she thought of as her real home was waiting for her, that and the Secret.

Once she had passed the test, if she passed the test, they would go back. She would sit in the garden. The poppies would be out and soon the jasmine would be in bloom. Her real home. It was there she had learned to read the Tarot cards and there, a year ago her grandmother had given her the news.

The Circle wants you. You will be born into it, next Beltane.

The girl stared up at the woman, her gaze uncertain. She was seated on the floor her back against her grandmother's chair. Around her, a pack of Tarot cards laid carefully out. As she turned sharply to look at her grandmother, her foot caught the cards.

Her grandmother clicked her tongue. The cards, she reproved.

The girl looked suitably chastened, Sorry, Grandmother.

Always respect the cards; they are a part of you.

The girl nodded. How many times had her grandmother repeated that? She had learned to read the cards before her seventh birthday. Beginning with the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana. She had repeated their meanings over, and over again until fixed in her memory. It had been their secret. A game to play whenever the girl visited her grandmother.

Gradually, the games had become harder. No longer were the cards simply a means to foretell the future but a focus for power. At first, the girl had found it hard to channel her thoughts into the cards. Her grandmother had been a hard taskmaster, forcing her to practice until her head hurt and she was reduced to tears.

Then, almost without realizing it, she was directing power into the cards, using them as doorways, pathways, giving her will physical strength. She kept her newfound skills a secret.

If she had told anyone, she knew they would have laughed and dismissed it as childish imagination. Then, who was there to tell? The girl had no friends to confide in. At school, she was not popular; she was the one they picked on, the target of every bully. The butt of every joke.

As her powers grew, so did her confidence. She no longer cried herself to sleep at the memory of the bully's taunts. It was if an invisible shell had formed around her. She had the power to hurt, to strike down anyone she chose with just the power of her mind. Only the promise she had made to her grandmother stopped her.

The Power brings with it responsibilities, never use it outside this room.

The woman was proud of her granddaughter. She was a fast learner. With real power, the girl was stronger than she had been at the girl's age and the old woman had been considered one of the best.

She was ready. She had to be.

The girl was looking at her in alarm. But I'm not old enough. The fear and uncertainty in her voice was unmistakable. You said when I was grown-up, then I could join.

The woman forced herself to keep her voice natural. I think you are ready now. How could anyone be truly ready? She had been almost twice the girls' age and she had almost failed. No one could ever be truly ready for the Fire.

You will be the youngest person to pass into The Circle in two hundred years, the woman said.

The girls' eyes dropped to the card she was holding. It showed a skeleton armed with a scythe. Death and Rebirth, the girl stared at it.

Quietly, the girl said, I will pass?

The woman reached out and touched the girl's cheek. Her fingers were cold and the girl gave a small, involuntary shiver. I said you are ready Little One. You have twice the strength I had at your age. You will pass through.

The girl raised her eyes. I'm scared.

That is nothing to be ashamed of. We are all scared. But, you must believe. You are far stronger than you realize. You have real power. One day; after I am long gone you will be the Guardian, something I could never be.

The girls' attention returned to the card.

What happens if I don't pass? the girl asked.

The woman made no answer. The girl had enough to bear, without that. Still keeping her voice casual, she said, I am going to die.

The Nuns had made death something to be feared, a time you paid for your sins, even those you didn't know about. Her grandmother had taught her differently. Death was just the completion of the circle. Nothing to be dreaded. Simply the price to pay for being born.

Not for a long time yet, Grandmother, the girl said.

The woman gave a little smile and gently stroked the girl's face. The doctors say I am living on borrowed time. They say if I am lucky I might have two more years.

The girl stared in disbelief. The doctors could be wrong. They don't know everything.

The woman shook her head, They are not wrong.

Then the Power, the girl exclaimed. It can help you.

Again, the woman shook her head. No.

But it must. It must. The girls' eyes were bright with tears. What is the use of it, if it can't help you?

It was the one question the woman had feared. The one question she could not answer. The girl had to believe. Faith was everything. If she lost that, she had nothing.

The woman made her voice deliberately sharp. What is the purpose of The Circle and the First Law?

The girl's response was automatic, born of long teaching.

To protect the Knowledge.

Why do we protect the Knowledge? the woman demanded.

Because the world is not yet ready for it.

And for how long do we protect it?

Until the time is right.

The old woman allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. The girl had learned her lessons well.

One day when the world is ready, the Power may be used to sustain life. Maybe when your granddaughter's, granddaughter is sitting here and having this same conversation. She paused and went on. I consider myself fortunate. I have had a good life. The Circle has repaid me many times over for my belief. It has asked little from me. Many of our ancestors went to their deaths to protect the Knowledge. I have never been called upon to do that and pray that you will never be called on to do so. But if you are, then you will do so, you have the strength.

The girl wiped at a tear. She didn't want to let her grandmother see her crying.

What is The Circle? the woman snapped.

The Circle is a line, without beginning; without end. Again, the girl repeated the words without thinking. Beginning in infinity; ending in infinity. Protecting the One Knowledge.

The woman knew she had made the right decision, she was certain of that now. She had chosen the right sister. Both had inherited the ability, but this one was the stronger. The one in which it could be fed and nurtured.

Something ran across the girls' foot. Too big, to be an insect, she felt its tiny feet on her bare toes. Holding her breath, she somehow managed to remain still while far away, the church clock began to sound the first notes of midnight.

A hand touched her arm and she let out an involuntary gasp. She had been concentrating so hard, on what was to come; she had not heard the person approach. Only the comforting reassurance of her grandmothers' voice stemmed the cry in her throat.

It's alright Little One, not long now.

She felt a cup pressed to her lips.

Drink this, it will help.

The liquid was warm and she swallowed it gratefully. It was sweet and slightly spicy, reminding her of a medicine she had once had. The girl gave a cough as it caught her throat but as its warmth flowed through her, a relaxed drowsiness overcame her. The urge to sleep was strong but she had to stay awake. The thought of just laying down was so tempting, the grass would be soft, just a little sleep.

She clenched her fists. She had to stay awake.

Her grandmother's voice came again close to her ear. Just remember Little One, be brave. I'm here.

From somewhere a drum began to beat. Hardly audible at first, then growing in volume until the girl realized she was listening not to a drum but to the pounding of her own heart. Slowly, she became aware of something else. A new sound joined the beat, underlying it, a chanting. The voices sounding barely human, a single word repeated endlessly as if caught in a loop.

At first, the voices seemed to match the beat of the girl's heart. Then, as they grew louder, she found her pulse racing to keep up with them. Fresh waves of voices joined and merged as if they were a gigantic choir. The chant grew faster and louder until the whole world was chanting the single word.

Power ... Power ... Power.

The word filled her mind engulfing her thoughts. She felt it wind around her as The Word took on a life of its own, cocooning her in a warm protective blanket. Her grandmother had been right; there was nothing for her to fear. She had the Power. Nothing could hurt her anymore. The Word would keep and protect her.

Time passed.

To the girl it might have been minutes or hours, or even days.

We are gathered to hear a petition for membership of The Circle. The man's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

She knew the voice well and it gave her a warm comfortable feeling. The man she knew as Uncle Toby, The Guardian, Keeper of the Flame. That is how she must think of him now.

Petitioner, make yourself known.

The girl took a deep breath and swallowed. I am Petitioner and Supplicant. It seemed to the girl as though someone else was speaking with her voice.

Who presents the Petitioner to The Circle? the Guardian demanded.

I do.

The girl almost jumped as her grandmother's voice came loud and forceful from close beside her.

Does anyone speak against her? the voice of the Guardian demanded.

The words dropped into the silence unfolding a new anxiety within her. Suppose, someone claimed she was too young or she did not really have The Power?

His voice came again. For the second time of asking, does anyone speak against her?

Silence.

For the third time the Guardian made his call and the girl held her breath.

The pause seemed to last forever, before The Guardian continued, With none raised against you, I demand, how do you come to this place?

The girl had rehearsed for this moment for weeks but now the moment had come she found herself stumbling over the words.

I –, she began and tried again. I come of my own free will and approach the Circle in all humility.  Blinded and bound by ignorance.

Let the Circle free you from your ignorance.

As he spoke, the girl felt the cords around her wrists loosened, and then the blindfold pulled away. For the first time the girl saw she was standing in a shallow grass depression perhaps a hundred yards across and sheltered on three sides by tall trees.

In front of her, too far away to see their faces and forming a line were twenty or so figures in simple dark monk-like robes. Between them and the girl stood a single figure, arms raised, dressed all in red.

In the silence, the girl dropped her gaze and she felt an icy shiver climb up her spine. She had known what to expect, but now to actually see the bundles of wood and straw heaped in a ring around her only waiting for the torch to be applied, it was suddenly all too real.

Do you pledge yourself to the Circle?

The girl took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on the figure in red. She knew the words she must say. Her grandmother had schooled her well but the sight of her funeral pyre made her hesitate. There must be no mistake. She had one chance.

I pledge myself and all the powers I now possess, and might possess in future times to the service of the Circle. I pledge further, that on my life and by whatever I hold sacred, I will protect both The Knowledge and The Power, and keep them hidden from Barbarian eyes. Should I fail in anyway, in my duties toward the Circle, my life and reason shall be forfeit. I beg the Circle, should I fail in any way, that the Circle shall take my very soul from me and cast my body into the abyss.

Somehow, as she spoke, the words came back to her exactly as she had learned them, except now, for the first time they took on a new sinister menace. The cold feeling of dread that had been seeping through her tightened its grip, closing around her chest making it hard to breathe.

A single robed figure detached itself from the line and slowly approached the girl. The hood of the robe was pulled forward; masking the face with shadow making it impossible for her to tell if it was a man or woman. Not that it mattered, it was what the figure carried, arms extended, made the bonds of fear turn to ice within the girl.

A tall silver jug.

Silent and faceless the figured glided across the ground.

The last, secretly nurtured hope that they might not really go through with it ebbed away.

Slowly, the figure circled the girl allowing the jugs' contents to dribble on to the wood and straw. The sharp tang of oil caught at the girls' throat forcing her to swallow back rising vomit. A new fear added itself, that she might disgrace herself by being sick; somehow, the thought was even worse than the ordeal that was still to come.

The silence became absolute, as if the whole world was holding its breath, all the previous sounds of the night suspended.

We, The Keeper of the flame, invite you into the Circle, do you accept?

I do.

"Let the Circle be broken. Join us. Igne natura renovatur integra."

At the last word, a sudden flare of light split the night. The girl hadn't seen the second figure approach. Now she watched mesmerized as the arm holding the burning brand moved, an arc of orange light cutting through the darkness.

It took only a single touch and the oil soaked straw burst into flame. A quick sweep of the arm and the entire ring of straw and wood was ablaze. A burning circle with the girl at the center. The leaping flames, casting giant, grotesque shadows, crackling as the dry wood ignited to form a solid circular wall of fire.

The girl knew what she must do. It was what her whole life has been leading up to.

A single tie fastened the neck of the gown. For a second, her courage almost failed. She did not want to die. She wanted to scream, to scream she had changed her mind.

It was too late. There was no turning back. No one could save her now.

When the Circle invites you, there is no going back. Her grandmother had told her that so many times.

Her fingers fumbled with the tie holding the gown; somehow, the knot had become tangled. The fire had become an ever-tightening circle, eager to engulf her. Franticly she tugged at the fastening; nerves making her pull the knot tighter instead of loosening it. The heat from the flames was intense. Smoke filled her lungs. She began to cough. She clawed wildly at the knot and felt it loosen. One last tug and the gown dropped from her. Flames snatched eagerly at it adding the smell of burning cloth to the smoke.

Naked, the girl moved forward, forcing one foot unsteadily in front of the other until her toes touch the burning straw.

Inside her head, the voice of The Guardian urged her on. Have no fear. You are safe. No harm will come to you. Believe only in your own power.

The heat was almost unbearable.

I have The Power.

The girl repeated the words, remembering all she had been taught. Feel The Power. Let The Power enter you. Let it take you.

I have The Power.

Her foot caught a burning log and she thought she would fall only just managing to steady herself.

Keep moving.

Pictures of martyrs burned at the stake filled her mind. At school, the Nuns had told stories of martyrs going singing to their deaths. The girl did not want to die. The fire stretched in front of her, an endless sea of flames. She screamed, but no sound came.

She moved forward. No longer in control of her own body, obedient only to the voice in her head, she let the flames engulf her.

For an eternity, she burned as the flame danced and lapped at her flesh.

The line of robed watchers remained unmoving, the light from the flames throwing them into stark relief as the girl's screams filled the air.

The girl watched herself burn. Her flesh blackened and charred. She felt no pain, only her body felt pain and that was no longer a part of her. She closed her eyes, so this is what it was like to die.

The fire continued to burn. Its fierce, angry flames casting the shadow of the girl dancing on the grass before the line of rigid figures. The girl hardly noticed her grandmother slip the midnight blue robe about her shoulders. Her legs felt suddenly weak. Hands gripped her and her uncle Toby's lips brushed her cheek.

Welcome to the Circle.

A confusion of faces crowded around her, smiling, welcoming faces. Lips pressed to her, arms hugged her. Someone held a cup to her mouth. The girl took a sip and then a long deep drink. The liquid was sweet, like honey and as she drank, she felt a new calmness flow over her. Fear had become a thing of the past.

She had passed the test. She had proved she had The Power and been re-born. Born of Fire.

The girl reached out to her grandmother, eager to share her happiness. Her arms found only empty darkness.

The girl was alone. She felt no surprise. She looked down; she was no longer standing, but floating. Far below her, the remains of the fire glowed red. She drifted on, high over the heads of the gathered figures. Over trees and a church spire. Over village houses. On, and on into the night.

The girl woke. She lay in her bed, remembering what, except for the dark blue cloak laying across the foot of the bed, might have all been a dream.

Chapter One

1983

An Engagement

The door opened, releasing a blast of music, a great bubble of sound that grew and burst on the empty street. The party had been organized by proud parents to celebrate both their daughters’ twenty-first and her engagement. It had reached that point where most of the guests had arrived and enough drinks consumed to get people talking to each other but not yet gained enough momentum to take on a life of its own.

Michael, Martin said with enough warmth, to make anyone think we were friends. At twenty-four, he was the same age as me, but looked older. His dark hair was showing the first signs of premature thinning and he had made the mistake of wearing it brushed across in an attempt to disguise the fact. He was what, he liked to call well-built and I called fat. I was a head taller, close to half his weight and fair-haired.

At school, we had been in the same year but had occupied different worlds. While I lost myself in books, Martin was the star of the sport's field, excelling at games and athletics, collecting friends and admirers in equal quantities and with casual ease. He was also the school bully and I was his favorite victim.

From school we had gone our separate ways and he, as far as I was concerned, became a part of a past I would rather forget.

There, he had stayed, shut away, along with other memories gathering dust, until we had found ourselves working for the same company. That had been a year ago.

I was working in research and development. The title was bigger than the department itself, just four of us with me at the bottom. Most of the time I seemed to do nothing but run errands and make tea.

The company was a small specialist firm, an offshoot of the parent company headquartered on the Continent. I had joined on leaving school, at the time the first step on the career ladder. However, now the future looked decidedly bleak. There were rumors of staff cutbacks and even that the entire business would be moved to France. I was hoping that the fact I had a French grandmother and relatives living in the country might count for something but that I thought was clutching at straws.

Martin had joined the company in marketing. What everyone else called sales and the only part of the company that seemed immune to cuts.

He recognized me first. Martin had changed so much I might never have known him. It was hard to see him as the boy who had forced me head first into the trash bin for not calling him 'sir'.

Great you could come, Martin said, sounding as if he really meant it.

Grabbing my arm, he almost dragged me inside, kicking