“Chenoa...today is a special day. Get up and get dressed. We don’t have much time.” Se Day, Chenoa’s father, was an average looking, moderately muscular man with a pleasantly round face, short black hair and a smile that lingered in the mind of anyone that had ever seen it. He had told Chenoa that his smile was from his spirit. “When the spirit smiles it’s a very good thing.” It had been just over two months since Chenoa had come home for summer vacation. Her dad, a Magi of The Seventh Mountain and an Occoneechee chief, prepared for what he must do. It was seven in the morning and the sun had already been up for two hours. As had been done for him, and countless firstborns before him, the prophecy of The Eighth Fire would be passed on to his firstborn, Chenoa, at sunrise, atop Aztec Butte, on the morning beginning her thirteenth year. He had little more than half an hour to wake her and get her there. Mr. Day had chosen to come back to his people after completing The Seventh Mountain, to use his knowledge and skills there.
