The Brotherhood: Blood (21 page)
“Do the people speak to you?”
“Uh… no.” Nova reached back to rub his neck. The look in Katarina’s eyes led him to believe that she wasn’t sure what he had just told her. For that, he set an arm across her back, pulled her close to his chest, then took a deep breath. “I don’t know what happened last night, honey. I guess I just talk in my sleep sometimes.”
“You weren’t having a vision last night?”
“No, I wasn’t. At least, not that I can recall.”
“All right.” She tightened her holds on his hands in his lip. “If you have something like that, though, tell me, please. I don’t want to be left in the dark about this.”
“I won’t, dear. Don’t worry.”
He kissed her cheek, drew her close, then took a deep breath.
He didn’t need visions of his own life to know that this could hurt his future.
The first dream came the night after he told Katarina about his gift.
In this dream—shrouded by film that appeared to be fog but glowed gold instead of white or blue—a boy no older than fourteen sat on a lone mattress in a small, dark room with his head hung low and his tattered, obviously-unkempt hair hanging in his face. Occasionally it appeared that a large, black door would open and a guard carrying food or water would come in and exchange the provisions with that of a pail obviously-designed for bodily reliefs, then leave the room, but other than that, this young man bore no little contact with humanity. Little light filtered into the privacy of this space, through a small window set into the far wall. It also appeared stone—much like an old, washed-out building—and cylindrical, spiraling up several feet into the air before being obscured by the fog of Sight and blocking him from seeing anymore.
After waking from the dream drenched in sweat, Nova took a few deep breaths and looked out his bedroom window, toward the distant horizon and where, he knew, the ocean would be were one to walk or ride a horse for three or four days.
Where was this place, he wondered, that he’d seen? Had it been a vision, or was it just a trick of a dream border-lining on some precognitive notion?
Of course it was a vision,
he thought, turning his head to look back at his sleeping wife.
I
know
it was.
In most instances, visions appeared much in the way of dreams, but held more physical essence than one would have ever experienced through a dream. In dreaming about this young man, he could
feel
the chill in the room—could
touch
the stone beneath his bare feet and
sense
the isolation within his chest, almost as if there was an intense grip about his body holding him into place. Everything—from the textures, to the sights and sounds, to the light filtering in through the room and the feeling in his chest—felt more real than anything he could ever possibly feel in the waking world without actually being in such a location. Those kinds of associations always set a vision apart from the dream. Nothing could be more real than a vision—not even life itself.
I can’t tell her,
he thought, forcing himself to even out his ragged breathing.
She’ll get scared.
The previous look of horror in his wife’s eyes had almost been enough to scare him out of explaining his gift, let alone recounting one of his visions.
Then and there, he made a decision.
No matter what happened, he wouldn’t—and
couldn’t—
let a vision interfere with his life.
Until he knew more, he had not a thing to worry about.
If his gift gave him another glimpse of the boy, he would know that a link had been established. He would know that, somehow, someway, he was supposed to help the sad young man with the tattered black hair.
The second vision came the following afternoon, after he helped Ketrak shovel snow away from the door and passed out on the loveseat.
In this dream, in which he stood near the door of the structure and looked upon the very young man he had come to know as someone troubled and wallowing in despair, Nova saw the boy looking out the window that faced the courtyard of what appeared to be a set of grand grounds that couldn’t have been anything but staggering and therefore of the greatest degree. Calculating, red eyes watching a group of boys train in the field below whilst sparring with swords, rods and other wooden weapons, he seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that Nova stood no more than a foot away. So close that he could feel the boy’s heat, his passion, his unease, Nova tried to reach out and touch him, but found that his hand slid through the young man’s back when he attempted such a feat. It wasn’t much of a surprise, considering he’d tried to touch things in his visions before but had failed considerably, but he felt somewhat disappointed at the fact.
For a moment, he wondered just whether or not the young man would sense his presence and turn to look at him.
Shortly thereafter, the boy sighed, startling Nova out of his thoughts. The young man then turned to walk away from the window, but stopped upon noticing that he still held onto the stone windowsill with one weary hand.
It’s ok,
Nova thought.
Why was this boy in this room? Who could he have been to deserve such a punishment, such isolation, such torture confined to the space of ten-odd feet? Had he done something wrong, something to displease or offend someone, or had he committed a crime so horrible that even men who murdered would not have been thrown into such a small, staggeringly-cruel place?
Where is he?
Nova also thought, for in that moment his situation seemed all the more crucial, especially as when a second sigh passed from his lips it seemed even harsher and crueler than it had been before.
Those thoughts, as warranted as they may have been, were lost when a pair of hands locked onto his shoulders and forced him from sleep.
Jarred from his vision, Nova flung himself forward, lashing out at whoever had touched him with balled fists.
“Nova!” the man gasped. “It’s ok! Calm down, clam down!”
“Ketrak,” he breathed, panting. “What’s wrong?”
“You were having a bad dream. You’re drenched in sweat.”
“I’m fine,” he sighed, prying his father-in-law’s hands from his sweat-drenched shirt. “Just having some weird dreams.”
“Katarina’s mentioned them. Well, the one, anyway.”
“Please don’t tell her about this one.
Please.
I don’t want her to worry.”
“I wouldn’t intentionally upset her, though I
am
concerned about what she told me. Apparently, someone in your dream was telling you to leave your wife.”
“She told me.”
“What do you think about that?”
“It makes mef feel nervous. I mean… I’m trying not to let my gift interfere with my marriage, but… it… it just might.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’ve been dreaming about a boy,” Nova said, “A boy locked in a tower. I think I’m supposed to help him.”
A month and three days passed without any further visions. Every night, upon the eve in which the day ended, he’d go to bed with Katarina and sleep peacefully until morning. Then, when he did rise, he’d helped Ketrak with the chores or anything else he needed done—mainly, but not limited to: shoveling the front porch and the resulting path, tending to the dead and wilted rose bushes that strayed along the road leading up to the gate, and tidying up the house whenever some part of it managed to get dirty. The help seemed to appreciate this greatly, for whenever they rose from their beds to attend to the chores of the day they would most, if not completely be done. It was for this reason that Nova found himself content in life, as it seemed that nothing hindered him in the least and threatened to dismantle his marriage entirely.
Everything seemed to be normal—peaceful, even, to the point where he had not a worry in the world.
Then, out of the blue, the third and most starling vision came.
It happened on the night of one of the most devastating pre-spring thunderstorms Nova had ever seen.
In this dream, he lay in bed with his wife asleep next to him, while directly across from them a figure clouded in light so bright he could make out no discernable features stood in the corner, towering over everything else in the room. The air, alight with static, buzzed, and popped Nova’s ears, sending each and every hair on his body and end, while shadows swam across the figure’s surreal form like fish across the room, distorting the walls and rippling golden energy across the small, confined space that the two of them slept in. Upon further examination, and whilst narrowing his eyes to the point to where they were more slits, it appeared as though the figure was made out of individual beads of energy that encircled its arms and connected to a band of light near the waist—where, there, the same bead-like orbs of energy continued down until they struck its feet and disappeared entirely. This sight, so surreal that Nova could hardly believed it, terrified him to no end, and disallowed any form of emotion or recognition humanly possible.
Novalos,
the creature of light and energy said, its voice so deep and androgynous it made him tremble just by listening to it.
Do you know who I am?
“Nuh-No,” Nova said, sitting up. “What are you?”
I am something who will help you in a great time of need, but not unless you help someone in theirs.
“Who?” Nova asked. “Who is—”
A flash of dark hair and red eyes entered his mind.
No.
It couldn’t be.
“Yuh-You mean thu-the young man?” he amanged.
Yes. I speak of a young man named Odin, a boy with red eyes.
“I know who he is,” Nova said, “but… am I dreaming, or am I having a vision?”
You are having neither, my friend. I am as real as your flesh and blood body.
“What are you?”
That does not matter. What does matter is that someone is in grave danger—danger of collapsing in on himself. There will come a time when, after a most tragic event, this young man will need an unwavering spirit at his side. It is you, Novalos, who will be that friend.
“I can’t leave my wife. We just… we haven’t been—”
I will trust you to make that decision, but fear not, for whatever decision you make will guide you in the right direction.
Before Nova could begin to question the creature of light and shadow, it faded into the darkness, relinquishing hold of the physical and material world.
As quietly as he possibly could without waking his wife, he stumbled out of bed, rubbed his eyes and scratched his arms, alight with static that made each and every hair on his forearms stand on edge. Could this figure have had something to do with one of his gifts, or had he merely woken up, ready to leave bed, and have had one of his rare waking visions?
No,
he thought.
I didn’t have a vision.
This felt nothing like such. His eyes hadn’t clouded, the room hadn’t brightened, nor had it felt as though each and every physical sensation was magnified to the umpteenth degree. No. This thing—this
moment in time—
could not have been a vision, for if it had, then surely he would have woken without his eyes being open.
After adjusting his shirt across his chest, he walked out of the room and closed the door.
Downstairs, in the sitting room, Nova settled himself into the chair next to the fireplace and warmed his shaking body.
“It’ll be all right,” he whispered, rubbing his hands together. “You’re just scared.”
Scared couldn’t necessarily describe it, and while this feeling would pass in a while, he didn’t think what he had experienced was fear—awe, possibly, but not fear. He’d felt such terrifying moments before, as a child ignorant of his abilities, and as a man whom had lost his father in the tragedy of a great fail of the heart. This feeling—this
emotion—
felt nothing like that, and for those unsure thoughts, troubling ailments and clouds of doubt, he knew in his heart that this very surreal happening had not been a dream.
“Nova?” a voice asked.
Ketrak stood at the foot of the stairs, wearing only a pair of trousers and a light silk shirt reserved only for intimate moments. In response, Nova turned his head to look at the man for several long moments before he returned his eyes to the fire, unable to meet his father-in-law’s eyes.
What will he think?
He wondered.
“What’s wrong?” Ketrak asked. “How come you’re down here so late? And during a storm?”
“We’re safe in the house,” Nova murmured.
Thunder rolled across the sky and shot an arc of blue lightning over the horizon.
“You know what I mean,” Ketrak said, settling down in the chair beside him. “Did you have another dream?”
“No.”
“Then why are you down here?”
“Because I—”
There’s nothing you can say that won’t scare him,
he thought, forcing himself to look up and directly into the man’s eyes.
You’re just gonna have to come out and say it. There’s no other way.
“Something just visited me,” Nova said, straightening his posture and staring directly into his father-in-law’s eyes. “I don’t know what it was, but it said that I had to help the young man in my visions.”
“The red-eyed boy?” Ketrak frowned.