Free The Predictions by Bianca Zander Page B

terrain, the bracken so dense that climbing through it would be like trying to unpick knitting. Despite the status of the land as Maori owned, we wouldn’t be trespassing. Local iwi had given us permission to go up there, but still I worried we might disturb something, an ancestral spirit or a long-forgotten curse. Not to mention the bees. We kept hives on the commune, but these ones were wild and didn’t like humans.
    Wide tracts of sunlight broke through the clouds. “You see?” said Shakti, pointing skyward. “The cosmos has blessed our little gathering.”
    Shakti had timed our ascent so that we would reach the peak when there was still light in the sky. It was the summer solstice, which coincided this year with a full moon, and she reassured us, even though it was cloudy, that there would be plenty of light by which to navigate our way down.
    On past ascents, it had taken hours to reach the peak of Mount Aroha, but on this occasion, we arrived near the top, fresh and giddy, after what felt like no time at all. In a clearing of flat stones, we sat down to catch our breath, and none of us could fathom how we had climbed up so quickly, stomping through the thick, tangled bush as though it was a smattering of weeds. “Another blessing!” said Katrina, throwing her hands in the air.
    Before we climbed the final section, Sigi retrieved a large earthenware jar from her knapsack and passed it to Shakti, who then passed it to Lukas. “I’d like each of the seven of you to take a long drink,” said Shakti. “It’s to open your chakras.” She watched us drink the bitter liquid, but she herself abstained. “The unusual taste comes from a rare and sacred herb,” she explained.
    A few meters below the rocky peak there was a broadcircle of earth where nothing grew, not even weeds. It was perfect for our ceremony. Shakti instructed Paul and Hunter to dig a pit for a small fire, and the rest of us set about collecting as much dry kindling and heavier branches as we could find. Most of it was too damp to use, and we were grateful for the stuff we had carried up in slings on our backs. Once the fire was lit, Shakti told us where to stand, the adults to one side of the clearing and the seven of us in a circle around the fire. Because the fire was the only light source, the adults fell into shadow and after a while I forgot they were there. I stood with Fritz on one side and Ned on the other, with Lukas directly opposite me, his face licked with gold from the flames. He was the first one Shakti went over to, whispering something in his ear. He turned to her, mystified, but then nodded.
    From the adults, cloaked in darkness, came chanting—an unfamiliar language, mouthed with hesitation. Shakti held Lukas by the arm and guided his hand toward the fire. She moved her grip to his palm and held it over a small metal bowl. She had something in her hand, a sharp tool of some sort, and she pushed it into his thumb. Lukas winced, and in response, I felt a nervous spasm in my own chest. Was that his blood dripping into the bowl? Shakti next approached Timon, who offered up his hand and bit his lip when the tool pierced his skin. Nelly, who was standing alongside him, reached out to touch his arm, then retreated. When her turn came, she yelped in pain.
    Soon, Shakti stood in front of me, her skin glowing in the firelight. She smiled at me elatedly, then pricked thecushion of my thumb with the pointed end of the blade. It didn’t hurt. The anticipation had been worse than the pain itself, but looking into the blood-spattered bowl, my insides churned.
    Once Shakti had collected blood from the seven of us, she pushed the blade into her own thumb and squeezed a few drops into the bowl. This she mixed with a series of powders and liquids from vials she had carried up the hill in her knapsack. The resulting liquid was thinner and bluer than the blood had been, and she wiped some on her arm to test the color. She placed the bowl next to the