Prologue

The only light in the room was a lamp with a flickering bulb, which barely served to illuminate the faces of the three people there. One, a middle- aged man, lay on a flat, his face contorted with pain or emotion. The other two were a man and a woman, seated in metal chairs, gazing at the man on the bed with intent. The man on the bed groaned, shifted, and sat up. He blinked once or twice, as if shocked to be where he was, and then recovered his bearings.

“What did you see?” inquired the woman in a hesitant, breathless voice.

“This year…” the man’s voice was a deep rumble, and hoarse as if from screaming. “This year is going to be important. This is the year everything changes.”

“Interesting.” That was the other man, who was sitting. “Did you have any visions specifically?”

“Yes. I saw a girl who came from the water, and a girl who came from the sky. I saw a boy who cannot be held, and a boy who cannot be caught. I saw a girl whom time cannot restrain. And… the most important of all, I saw a lost girl with the blessing of the world.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t do this. Can’t you put it less poetically?” that was the woman, who was frowning.

“I’m sorry,” said the seer. “I’m only telling you what was there. Oh, and I saw one more thing— it kept being repeated, actually. ‘The God Machine.’ What do you suppose any of it actually means?”

“…Interesting,” said the sitting man. “I’m not entirely sure what it means, but from the looks of things, we’ll have a wide variety this year. Can you try to write out a list of everything you’ve seen on paper? Ideally while it’s still fresh in your mind.” He held out a pad of paper and a pen to the seer, who took it, frowned, and glanced briefly at the inadequate lamp.

“Oh, yes, of course,” said the man, seeing where he was looking. “We lowered the light levels so as to not intrude on your visions. Here, this should help.”
He snapped his fingers, and the fluorescent lights turned on.


***


At another place in another time, a seven- year- old girl, dressed simply in a tee- shirt and sweatpants, was holding for the first time a wooden staff that was bigger than she was. It was polished smooth, with ornate carvings up and down the shaft in some indecipherable ancient language (Latin, as it turned out). At the end rested a clear crystal of ridiculous size. The carver of the wood had taken utmost care so that the end of the staff fit so snugly and perfectly around the jewel that neither could be separated. The girl was hesitant, unsure—she twisted her sweaty grip on the smooth wood and held the staff up, so that the crystal reached over her head. She rested the opposite end of the staff, which was capped in a metal tip, on the sandy ground. She began to draw a shaky line on the ground, but the end skittered and interrupted her curve. She was taken aback for a second, but then tried again, and this time she felt additional rough, warm hands enclose hers as her father helped guide her. With his help, she drew a circle, smooth and nearly perfect all the way around, and marked it in the places he had shown her. Under her breath and assisted by her father, she murmured an incantation.

As she had finished drawing the final line and breathed the last word of her prayer, the symbol she had drawn began to react. It was slow at first—she had to squint to see it, but once she did there was no mistaking it. Light shone from the depths of the patterns, filling up the lines she had drawn and then flaring upwards like fire, higher and higher towards the starry sky. In the center of the circle, the tongues of light were coalescing into the shining figure of a bird, with wings outstretched. The lights died down, fading back into the summoning circle. The bird remained, still composed of multicolored light-- its feathers comprised of constantly shifting hues. It opened a yellow eye and turned its head this way and that, like a real bird, scrutinizing the little girl and her father.

“He is yours to command,” rumbled the father, as the girl hesitantly held out a hand for the bird to hop onto. It folded its wings and did so, making the girl giggle—the light- bird was strangely cool to the touch.

“This is not a particularly strong binding, so he will only exist in this world for around ten minutes,” continued the man as the girl gently ran two fingers along the shining feathers on the bird’s back. “But you can always call him again, if you just draw the symbol and say or think the prayer. Birds are only the beginning, too. When you go up to your room tonight, you will find I have left you a book full of symbols and prayers for calling different spirits. Practice it. It is your future.” The man straightened up. “And now, Carrie, I must go.”

“Daddy?!” Exclaimed the girl, spinning on her heels, the spirit bird skittering up to her shoulder. “What—”

“I’m sorry, my dear. But I cannot stay with you and your mother any longer. I wish I could have told you this earlier, but you were too young to understand—and you might be too young yet. But I must leave. You are the keeper of the staff. You are a Caller, Carrie. It is your duty to continue on our family’s covenant with the spirits. Goodbye.” He bent down to embrace her, kissing her gently on her forehead, and then turned around to walk out. Carrie heard the purr of his car’s engine start up and pull away, and she cried. The tears fell on the feathers of the bird, where they reflected the light so they looked just like tiny stars.
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Author's note:
Prologues! Two of them! Don't expect most of your questions to be answered until... hmm... Chapter 9. And not even all of them, then.