Ace of Wands: Prologue: The Dreams
Prologue
"The Dreams"
The moon shone full and bright through the trees, dormant, leafless monuments to an early fall. The scant light cast shadows like a thousand sinister arms lashing out of the darkness.
Krystiana made her way slowly through the lonely and deserted woods. She was searching - for something or someone. Yes! It was someone. And she had to find - this someone. But why?
A soft breeze swirled around her. Something in the way it touched her hair and whispered against her face seemed wrong. It was as if the wind was caressing her, it's tiny, invisible fingers probing her body, like the hands of a lover trying to arouse the passion of an unwilling partner. It felt not quite obscene, but dirty. And it angered her. A chill of disgust ran down her spine, and she hugged herself tightly, trying to be rid of the evil sensation.
Her eyelids felt heavy and she allowed them to close, hoping to escape this reality. But the dream images behind them were the same as the ones that assaulted her open eyes. Only here, in the darkness of her mind, the limbs above were arms, reaching out to grab hold of her, and the wind's fingers were no longer invisible.
She was tired, and her arms and legs began to feel heavy, lead weights pulling her down into the earth. She knew that, this time, she did not dare give in. If only she could sit for a moment and rest. But there was an urgency gnawing at her from somewhere deep inside herself. Some mission, and it had to be completed.
She opened her eyes and took a tentative step forward. The earth was soft beneath her bare feet, moss-like and damp. Not muddy, but springy. like walking across a mattress. She wanted to get away from it, to take off in flight like the night birds circling and screeching in the air over head. Anything so that she would not have to feel this unnatural soil.
Krystiana chastised herself for being so squeamish. It was a dream. It was only a dream, like a thousand others she had had. And yet it was so much more.
A bolt of blue light, not lightening, no, not like that at all, passed just inches from her. So close that she could feel the heat radiating from it. So close that the force of it very nearly knocked her off her feet and she had to grab a tree limb for support. It writhed beneath her fingers, a snake coiling for the attack. She tried to pull her hand away, but it seemed frozen there. The scream that escaped her throat was full of fear, panic, and it would not stop until it had claimed the last of her breath.
Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest, and momentarily, the pounding did not stop there, but made its way into her neck and head. She breathed heavily, trying to regain what was lost. But the writhing beneath her fingers continued, and the fear would not pass away. It kept control over her mind and body.
"Bella." The voice came from nowhere. And from everywhere. "At last, we meet again." It was not a voice, but a chorus of voices. There was something about them, familiar, but not right.
"Who's there," she asked, her voice small and wavering, her throat raw from the force of the scream.
"Don't be afraid, Bella." The voices were louder, closer. "I'm not going to hurt you."
This time, when her mind told her hand to let go of the limb, it obeyed. She backed away from the tree. "Stay away from me!"
"There's no need to run, Bella. I won't hurt you." The voices spoke softly, trying to comfort and lull her. But they lied. They wanted to hurt her, and if they caught her, they would.
Krystiana searched her mind. She knew the voices. There was something different now, something that had not been there when she had heard them before. But the sense of familiarity was strong, undeniable. She knew that if she could only identify them, everything would fall into place. She would know why she was here, and who she was searching for.
But who had ever called her Bella? Perhaps someone had. There was a faint recollection, something from a long ago and far away place. It was there, in the farthest reaches of her mind, just beyond her grasp.
That's not important right now, she told herself, interrupting her own thought mid stream. First, get the hell out of here. Then you can take all the time in the world to work out this little puzzle. What are you waiting for? Run, you fool.
Summoning the last of her strength, Krystiana turned and ran as hard as she could. Behind her, she could hear the sound of footfalls, slow and even, but gaining on her with every stride. She desperately wanted to look back, to see a face belonging to those voices, but she didn't dare. These woods were strange to her, and it took every bit of concentration not to stumble over some protruding root or fallen branch. And besides, some part of her knew that there would be nothing there to see.
"Why are you running, Bella? You can't be thinking of escape? Surely you know better." The voices were very loud now. Very close, as if just inches from her ears. Yet there was no feeling of anyone being there. Just the presence, all around her, of those voices.
Her foot struck a large rock. She knew it was going to happen, actually thought, "I am going to fall," in the instant before she did. And then she was on the ground, half sitting, half laying there, completely vulnerable. And the voices were laughing.
Krystiana buried her head in her arms. One part of her, the strong, independent part that she showed to the world, wanted to stand and challenge the voices. "I will not stand against a faceless enemy," that part of her wanted to scream. But another part, the inner child, and right now the bigger part of her, simply collapsed in deep, heavy sobs.
"Leave me alone," she cried. "Please, why won't you just leave me alone?" And then she realized it. The voices were gone. The footfalls were gone.
Krystiana raised her head, content that the terror was over. And she found herself not in the woods, but in the middle of a field. She felt something small and warm moving beneath her. As she lunged away, a tiny field mouse scampered for safety.
Her head was spinning and her stomach was churning as though she was about to be sick. A moment later, however, all thought of herself vanished and was replaced by a fresh sense of terror. In that moment, she was blinded by a bright, white light.
**********
Richard was immersed in his own dream. He was driving along Highway 2, outside of Boston, as he had done every day for the many years he had spent serving the people of Massachusetts as an employee of the State Police, when he saw two figures standing by the side of the road. They were huddled together for warmth in the cold spring rain, looking exhausted and positively desolate. As he drew near, and slowed his off duty truck down to a crawl, he could see them more clearly, and his heart went out to them.
The smaller one was a little girl of no more than three, with curly brown hair and a runny nose. The taller figure, statuesque actually, was the child's mother, little more than a baby herself. She lifted the child to her hip and looked toward the truck, and for the first time, Richard could see her eyes. They were huge ebony stones set in the smoothest ivory skin he had ever seen, and they were the very essence of despair.
"Need a ride," Richard called out.
The young mother's face was blank and tears came to her eyes. "No English," she said in an accent that Richard could not identify. The slightest hint of fear came into those eyes, making them all the more beautiful.
Richard climbed out of the truck. The rain was coming harder now, and the clouds were growing darker. If he knew Boston, the storm would rage all day and into the night.
The mother and child were dressed in rags. They had one coat between them, a light spring jacket, really, that did nothing to fend off the chill of an early New England rain, and that the mother had given up. She had wrapped the coat around the little girl, who shivered in spite of it.
At their feet was a small, very old satchel. The tapestry casing was worn and frayed at the edges. It would hold no more than a single change of clothing for each of them, but this made no difference. Whatever was inside would be as drenched as it's owners.
Richard smiled and brushed the wet locks of hair out of the child's eyes. "You're almost as pretty as your mother, little one," he said, his voice soft and reassuring. It worked. The fear passed out of the mother's eyes and she returned his smile.
Richard smiled and brushed the wet locks of hair out of the child's eyes. "You're almost as pretty as your mother, little one," he said, his voice soft and reassuring. It worked. The fear passed out of the mother's eyes and she returned his smile.
There was something knowing in that smile. Richard found himself thinking that this mother-child had seen more in her short life than he would see in all of his. That which was past and that which was yet to come.
He bent down and picked up the satchel. The mother-child laid a hand on his arm. She didn't need the words. Her gratitude was written on her face. He motioned her to the truck and opened the door to let her climb in. She settled into the seat with her little girl on her lap. The child babbled happily in some language Richard did not know, but in a tone he understood.
He raised his arm to toss the satchel into the back of the truck. As he did, a sharp, hot pain raced through his shoulder.
Against his will, he felt himself being drawn out of the dream, up from the depths of sleep. He wanted to stay where he was, to see the dream to its conclusion, but he found himself drifting into the waking world, the image of the mother-child's face fading. The pain in his shoulder followed him, pulsing now.
Then he opened his eyes, and the moment he did, the dream was gone - almost. He would never forget that face. Nor that of the child, although it was less vivid in his memory. They had become so much a part of him that forgetting them would be akin to forgetting his own name.
He found the source of the pain in his shoulder. He could see Krystiana's hand, silhouetted in the darkness of the bedroom, tense and straining, fingernails digging into his flesh, small droplets of blood forming around them.
He pried her hand loose and shook her gently. She moaned and her eyes fluttered open.
"What?" Her voice was thick and heavy, but the melodious sound of it came through her sleepiness.
"You were dreaming again."
"So?" She moved closer to him, drawn by the warmth of his naked body next to hers. She ran her hand over his chest and onto his shoulder, where she felt the blood and was suddenly fully awake. "Did I hurt you?"
"Not bad. You want to tell me about it?"
Krystiana was silent for a moment. Yes, she wanted to tell him everything. Honesty was the foundation of their relationship, wasn't it? And yet, she didn't want to worry him.
"It was nothing."
Richard shifted in the bed, turning to face her and slipping his arm around her waist. "Don't lie to me." His fingers traced the gentle curve where her back met her buttocks. Her skin was soft and warm from sleep, with just a hint of cellulite. Nothing wrong with that. Richard thought it was rather sexy, not at all like those stick figure Barbie doll types. Krystiana was a real woman with a real woman's body.
Richard fought the urge to say something about it. Not that Krystiana had a volatile temper, but he was likely to get slapped just the same. Anyway, he was absolutely certain that she already knew just what he thinking. It seemed that she had opened the door to his mind long ago and now could come and go freely, knowing his thoughts and deepest emotions even before he did.
"I'm not. I promise."
"I know about your dreams, Krystiana. If there's something..."
"It wasn't like that." But it was. And more. This time, she didn't have the certainty that so often went along with these precognitive dreams. She did not know the time and place, or even exactly what was going to happen. But something bad, something very bad, was coming.
"You promise?"
"I said I did."
It was not her tone, but the look in her eyes, that convinced him. Then she smiled and kissed him and all the other concerns evaporated from his mind.
**********
Nona Daniels awoke screaming, soaked with perspiration and panting from exertion. The dream image would not leave her mind. It was there now, with the same startling clarity. She shook her head, trying to force it away, but it hung there like a painting before her eyes.
The child, a little boy, only a few months old, was laying on the dusty path, naked and crying. Nona could feel his hunger. And his fear, the fear of being alone. Where was his mother? Had she deserted him?
There was a rustling in the leaves near the path. The baby stopped crying. The sound meant that someone was near. He was no longer alone. Then something stepped out of the thick underbrush that lined the path. Something big and dark. The baby sensed only that there was another living thing nearby. A thing that might comfort him and feed him. To the baby, the presence was reassuring. To Nona, it was terrifying.
The thing was a very large grizzly bear. It approached the baby cautiously, looking about to see if anyone else in the area. There wasn't. The bear trotted up to the baby and sniffed it. The baby cooed contentedly. The bear growled soft and low. To the baby, it was a happy sound. To Nona, it meant danger.
The bear sniffed again, circled the baby. Once again, it looked around. And once again, there was no one in sight. And then...
Nona shook her head one more time. She didn't want to see this again, but there was no stopping the image.
And then, the bear picked up the child, sinking its sharp teeth into the tender and vulnerable flesh. Blood flowed from the wounds in the child's shoulder and chest. It flowed into the bear's mouth, and spilled over, running down its muzzle, and collected in a pool on the ground. Blood. Too much blood.
The baby screamed and the bear gave it a sharp shake, snapping the child's neck and silencing it once and for all. The bear stood for a moment, with its meal hanging from its mouth, then turned and trotted back into the underbrush.
Nona buried her head in her pillow and began to cry.
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Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four
Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten