The Council of Five

 

              The Council had decided to meet. It had been a mutual agreement, but that didn’t mean that they were incredibly happy about it. They were human enough to still feel those natural animosities towards each other. They each found themselves evenly spaced around a circular table in the five seats designated for their position

The shaman held the head chair, her long black hair as straight as her jeans and ceremonial shirt were wrinkled. Calm, green eyes glowed in the poorly lit room, framed by thick lashes and straight, thick eyebrows. Her shirt was plain animal skin, a sign of her Native American ancestry. She was a pure blood, someone from a line directly related to shamans, and with barely a hint of average human in her. Thick beads clanked noisily as she reoriented herself, desperately searching for her calm center. She would definitely need it for this meeting.

To her left was a sorcerer, looking as clean as ever despite the impromptu meeting. Black dragon tattoos covered his pale skin where the blood red clothing couldn’t cover. It crawled up along the right side of his neck, over his jaw line, and ended with a flourished dragonhead across his cheekbone. His simple clothing, a red jacket over a black T-shirt and jeans, made him look even younger than he was. His hair, crimson as blood, hung messily across his face, as enchantingly pale blue eyes scanned the room thoughtfully. He was never one to be worried, usually too amused with a situation to bother. But the fact that he could dispel any unwanted contact with a flick of the wrist did help.

To the shaman’s right was a not-so-happy vampire. He was carefully distraught that no one was paying much attention. But most vampires were drama queens, so they were fully aware of this. And ignored the childish behavior. He was wearing all black, probably trying to make himself look paler to match the old cliché. It was not working. He was clearly of Asian descent, with tan skin, almond shaped brown eyes, and matching hair. And he was clearly glaring at the young werewolf seated to the left of the sorcerer.

He actually looked like he was totally indifferent, a rarity since werewolves usually suffer short but severe bouts of temper. He too, looked of Native American descent. Werewolf probably wasn’t the accurate term; it was more like shape shifter that had happened to pick the wolf to shift to. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt over raggedy jeans, but managing to pull off such an astute aura, that he could have been in a business suit complete with tie and brief case.

To his left was an old Necromancer, white haired pulled in a braid that nearly reached her hip. She wore a dark purple, long-sleeved shirt over khaki pants. Her skin was incredibly pale, probably what the vampire to her own left had been striving so fair to mimic.

These five were the most powerful of their races, light-years ahead of the average people. Not that the word “average” really applied to any of them any more. They were Paranormals, those unexplained races that made up most peoples’ nightmares (not to mention the most popular horror films). Here they were not known by name, but as their race. And they were here to discuss a very important matter.

“The girl must be sent to live with one of us. She will grow up to be a menace if she is left as is. Just look at how much damage she has caused already, and she is barely 4 years of age!” The werewolf was emphatic, no doubt worried about the protection of his own race.

“If this girl is allowed to reach puberty, then not even we, members of the Council of Five, will be able to stop her!” This was probably the only time you would find a vampire and a werewolf actually agreeing on something.

The sorcerer waved a lazy hand, drawing attention to him immediately (which in all truth was probably his plan). “But, as you have said, she is just a girl. Sure she has an immense power, but don’t we all? Is that not what makes us the Council of Five?” He didn’t seem to want an answer, or even care if one was said. But someone just had to have one. Odd, it wasn’t the werewolf, nor the vampire, but the necromancer.

“Do you not realize the significance of this?” Her voice was not brittle like her age made her seem, but it was not loud either. But no one dared talk above the necromancer of the century. “The dead have known of this time for a long while now. There will be others with such power, though I doubt it will be as potent since she is first. But there will be one for each of the five races. A great evil is rising, and they are the only ones who can put it back to rest. There will be one to fill each point of the pentacle. The dead have seen such, and I have told.”

To say they were shocked would have been a complete under statement. It had been quite a while since the dead had foretold a prophecy and given it to a necromancer to foretell. This meant that something big was to happen but not until they reached the ages of 15, the age of magical puberty.

And notice the one person who didn’t say anything?

Be safe, my niece, be safe for 11 more years, thought the shaman.