PREMONITION
THE FORTRESS
Copyright ©2019 by Lisa James
All rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews—without written permission from its publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or to other works is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2019 by Lisa James. All rights reserved.
To my friend and sister, Jovilin, whose constant encouragement gave me the confidence to continue pursing my dreams. I wrote this one in secret, but I hope it still makes you proud.
“Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.”
1 Thessalonians 5:11
And always, to Daddy. I miss you every day.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Prologue
“There is something wrong with the child Sarah. We have to do something—”
I watched through the crease in the door entering into my parents’ chambers. My father was pacing while my mother lay in bed trying to find a comfortable position. She was nine months wrought with my little brother or sister, so comfort did not come easy.
“They are just bad dreams—”
“Bad dreams? Bad dreams are what allowed him to see that Nathan was taking his housekeeper to bed? Bad dreams are what caused him to somehow know that Amara was swindling her customers by selling jewelry she poached off the deceased?”
“He is an observant child. He must have overheard something—”
“What about my father? How did Isaac know that he would pass? The child had a dream that his grandfather’s heart would fail in the middle of the cornfield. One week later it came to be!”
My mother remained silent for a moment and spoke quieter. I pressed my face closer to the opening of the door so I could hear her words. “There are things that he has seen that have not come true. What about that madness he spoke of with the strange, foreign woman with a dagger held at a man’s neck—”
My father raised his hand to make my mother stop speaking and shuttered slightly. “And it doesn’t concern you that our son even thinks of these things?”
“He has an active imagination.” My mother said in a whisper as my father’s temper flared.
“Stop making excuses for him! If the child kept these things to himself, we could manage, but he seems to be unable to stop his mouth from pouring out this nonsense. He has made us a pariah to our neighbors. We must do something!”
“Like what? What can be done? You had the physician inspect him and he said there is nothing physically wrong with the child.”
“Which only leaves that the boy may have been overtaken by some madness.”
“Don’t say such things! There is nothing wrong with him! He is just a child—”
“If the boy truly sees bits of the future this means he will be of particular interest to the Chief of the Fortress. Especially now.” My father said softly.
“What are you talking about?” My father straightened as if saying something he didn’t mean to share.
“The Chief is unlikely to want a mad child in our province and will force us to give the child up.”
“No! He will not take my son away from me—”
“Sarah, if his abilities are discovered we may not have a choice.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. I wasn’t ignorant to what happened to someone who was considered with defect in the Fortress or those who were unwanted by their families. If a father or mother did not want to care for a child, the leaders of the Fortress would accept them. It was most likely the children were taken as slaves but those who were considered beyond correction were more likely executed. It was hard to be certain. The guardians gave them up completely with no opportunity to see them again or check on their whereabouts.
I stepped back in fright as the wood underneath me creaked. I cringed knowing I would be discovered. I stifled a groan as my father said sternly. “Isaac! Come here.”
His face was set as stone and his arms crossed around him as I came out of my hiding spot. My mother’s face was turned away from me, masked by chestnut curls that moved as her shoulders went up slowly and sank quickly. “What did I tell you about hiding? You do not listen into our private conversations. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir.” I said quietly.
“What?”
“Yes, sir.” I said more boldly not wishing to ignite my father’s wrath.
“Stand straight and look at me.” I did as he said and met his eyes. “What is it? Why aren’t you in your bed?”
I was too frightened to tell my father why I couldn’t sleep, although I knew he already knew why. It was the constant reason the last three months. The reason for the argument between him and mother now. My dreams. At night I would be plagued by images. Images and scenes of things I could not understand or explain. I didn’t want to see them. I prayed every day and night that I wouldn’t see anything, but the images continued to come to me. The first vision I had ever seen was a woman with bronzed skin and hair like black silk holding a young girl in her arms. The young girl looked perhaps a little older than me, with the same bronze skin as the woman but her black hair was braided down her back. Don’t fear, my love. Someone will come and take my place. The elder woman said to the girl.
I didn’t know the mother or child, but the images felt so real. As if I was there in the room with them as witness to these words. I reported these things to my parents who thought nothing of it at first but a child’s bad dreams. But the dreams did not stop. Every day I would see something new. Something that I shouldn't see. Sometimes I would see people I knew. Other times I saw people I did not know. I was becoming a burden to my family, I knew it, but I couldn't keep what I saw to myself. How could I?
“I—” I started quietly.
“Speak Louder!” My father barked.
“Stop that, Aaron! You are scaring him. Come here, Isaac.” My mother said gently. Her eyes were rimmed with red though she forced a welcoming smile on her face. I looked toward my father who stared back at me disapprovingly. I decided not to step toward my mother’s outstretched arms. I was eleven now. I couldn’t go running to my mother every time my father scolded me. I swallowed hard and tried to speak boldly.
“I think the rain will stop.”
My father’s face shifted from anger to confusion. “What?”
“I—I think the land will dry up. I think we will have a period of no growth just as the messengers said.”
My father sighed at this. When it was not anger, he felt toward me it was exasperation. “They always give a warning of famine, but the land has been opulent for decades. We have no history of famine or drought. I told you this.”
I was there when the messengers came down from the epicenter of our province, the Fortress, to collect monthly taxes and share any news from our leaders. I heard the report being told to my father that a drought was coming. They ga
ve no more explanation on how they were so certain or when it would happen but commanded us to start saving a portion of our harvest every year. My father listened and bowed in obedience but as soon as they left, he scoffed at their words, as was common for him. They wish for us to panic. They want to remind us of our dependence on their rule with these warnings. It surprised me how my father would show such blatant disregard for our rulers. He was governor of our village, one of many within the province. It was an honor to serve as a governor. My grandfather served before him, and my great grandfather before that. I was set to take my father’s place when I reached my 20th year, just as he did with his father. But what I didn’t understand was why my father always ignited hostilities in our village against the Chief of the Fortress? It was odd. I always thought that a governor was supposed to be an advocate for our leaders. They were supposed to serve as an extension of our leaders to the villages. But my father chose to speak kindly to the messengers but would always speak poorly about the leadership to our people.
“Father.” I started again. “It will happen as they say. Not now, but sometime in the future, when you are older, and your hair has more gray.”
“Isaac, what are you speaking of?” My mother asked gently.
“Isn’t it obvious? He’s seen something. I don’t want to hear any more of this, Isaac. It is late. Go to bed.” He turned away from me toward the single window in their chamber, signaling that he had decided the conversation was over.
“We need to heed their warning.” I pressed on, not certain where my boldness was coming from. “We need to start collecting grain now so we can survive the time of drought, Father. Otherwise, you will do something foolish. I have seen it.” My father whipped around to face me again.
“Foolish? Such as?” I swallowed hard losing my confidence amidst his scrutiny. My father sighed at my hesitation. “I don’t want to speak of this anymore, Isaac.” He stepped toward me and I shrunk back. My father only cared to be close to me if he was bestowing discipline. It surprised me as he went to one knee and reached out toward me in a gesture of affection, pulling me forward. It was said that I was the spitting image of my father. I shared his copper hair and eyes like amber flames. Though my father had a beard framing his face and a hardness I never wished to inherit. “You know I am only stern with you because I want the best for you. I want the best for our family. It is no good to speak of these things you see, Isaac. Suppress it. Fight it. Do not share it. You do not wish to make people uncomfortable, do you?”
“No, sir.” I whispered, knowing it was what he expected me to say.
“And you will not mention anything when we go see Judith and her parents tomorrow? It is very important, Isaac. One day you will take my place. It is never too early to earn the respect of the people. Judith’s parents have been good friends to us, and they will support you when you surpass me and one day Judith will be a good wife to you.”
“Aaron, enough of this. He is only a boy. There is no need to speak of this now.” My mother interjected but my father kept his eyes on me and continued.
“It is some years off, of course, but for a young man in your position it is not too early to consider these things.”
I nodded but I didn’t understand. Were all my friends being given wives? Was Jason? Or Benjamin? Did it have to be Judith? I had no interest in marrying but if I had to pick a girl, I would much prefer my friend Helena over Judith. I knew little of Judith. She was quiet and kept to herself, but Helena was bold and talkative, and she didn’t think I was strange to have my visions though the people that had become aware of it were becoming distant. Only my true comrades, Helena, Jason and Benjamin, defended me and didn’t distance themselves in fear.
“Good.” My father said with a rare smile. “All will be well, my boy. I promise.” He wrapped his arms around me in an embrace as suddenly I felt the room around us moving. Noo. I thought in panic as another image started to appear in my head. Fight it! Suppress it! I repeated to myself to no avail as I fell limp in my father’s arms. Isaac? Isaac! I could hear him distantly calling as the images came to me. A woman was sitting by a bedside, gently stroking the wounded back of a man lying flat on his stomach. I could not see her face, but her hair came down across one bronze shoulder in dark waves of coal. The man’s face was turned away from her and out of my sight, but he had the same copper hair as my father. There were wounds in strips down his back as if he had been badly beaten. The man laid so still like he was sleeping or unconscious, but the woman spoke to him.
Your people have already accepted your death and mourned for it. They have moved on. They did not want you, but I did. The sound of her voice was so familiar. Where had I heard it before? Was it from another dream? I have always wanted you. The woman continued. Remember that, Isaac. I have always wanted you.
The room became still again as my father and my mother’s faces came back into my view. They both were kneeling in front of me now. My father’s arms were still on my shoulders. I was back in their chambers. I steadied myself as my father dropped his hands from my side, his face becoming a mask of disappointment as my mother reached out to me.
“Oh Isaac.” She said softly as grief from what I had just seen overcame me. Who was the woman? Was that beaten man truly me? Where was I? I allowed myself to weep in my mother’s arms as if I would never see her again. “It’s alright, my love. I won’t let anything happen to you. We won’t let anything happen to you. You are ours.”
They did not want you, but I did. The woman’s words echoed in my head as I buried my head into my mother as if I would never see her again. I have always wanted you.
Chapter 1
10 Years later
My life was forfeit.
Just three weeks ago I was in my own village. Just four days ago I was a free man. Given, I was considered a madman, a disappointment to my father, and most recently a coveter of another man’s woman. But I was free.
No longer. I had given my life to slavery.
My father warned me for years that my visions would be the cause of my death. Yet, it was his folly that led my life to be forfeit. For years I told him not to rise up against the Chief of the Fortress. For months I warned him against attacking a storehouse at the epicenter of our province, owned by our rulers. Warnings he did not heed. It had all been a trap. They had predicted our plans and waited patiently for us to execute just so they could take us in for judgement.
Drought and famine had taken over the province for three years. We were instructed several times over the last 10 years to prepare for the time, but my people refused to listen. The ground was opulent then. Our harvest was abundant. The consistent rains seemed unending.
We were foolish. The rains stopped suddenly. The harvest dwindled. We were down to our last few crops and cattle.
Our people will starve. My father insisted.
Plead for mercy. I insisted. Resist drawing your weapon. No good will come from threatening the Fortress. I have seen our capture. I have seen it.
I have seen, were the words that divided my father and me the most in the last ten years. Since I was 11 years of age, I started to have my visions. Bits and pieces of the future would come in the form of a dream as I slept or as an ache in my head when I was awake, causing a spout of dizziness. Sometimes I would see images from the very near future and sometimes the very distant. I didn’t know what triggered them, but I knew the things I saw would come true. I knew our siege of the storehouse would be unsuccessful. I knew the eighteen of us who went on the journey would be taken captive and put on trial before the Chief of the Fortress.
I had seen it. What I had not seen was that I would be the only one truly taken.
My father never wished to hear of the things I saw. My visions were a cause of shame for him, the appointed governor of our village. He wished for me to fight against it, to suppress it, and for many years as a frightened child, I tried. I didn’t wish to disappoint my father, but as I grew into a young man my fear of him turne
d more into bitterness. He was stubborn and I became stubborn in response. We fought at every turn. I learned quickly enough that nothing I did would ever gain his respect. It was expected that I would be my father’s successor. I was the eldest son. Yet, when my visions emerged, I saw my father pull away from me. Just as so many of our villagers pulled away from me throughout the years, wanting to distance themselves from Mad Isaac. They blamed me for something I could not control. I knew my father was preparing my younger brother, Timothy, to take his place. Though he did not wish to publicly declare he had passed over me, it was evident. Now he did not need to explain. He would never see me again. No one from my village would ever see me again.
I belonged to the rulers of the Fortress now.
In my vision I could not see the faces of the people we were thrown before when we were captured. I saw us led through the stone maze of walls that established the Fortress, to a center construct, taller and wider than any surrounding it. The eleven villages of the province were outside of the Fortress walls. Heavy handed, stone faced, muscularly built men and women were appointed by our leaders to border and safeguard our perimeters in place of the walls to ensure our protection. A gift from a Chief and Chieftess I had never seen who lived within the walls. We were their people though they were unknown to me. In my vision, our hands were bound behind us as each man was followed by a guard before we were thrown to our knees in front of someone. That was where my vision had ended.
The reality was there was more than one someone. We faced a man who looked to be at least sixty years of age, with brown, creased skin and gray hair upon his head. The Chief of the Fortress. There was a young woman seated next to him. She had the same brown skin, and her black tresses were tied near the top of her head, cascading in thick waves down her back. Her cheekbones sat high and her dark eyes were large and wide. She would have held a look of innocence if her eyes were not accentuated with thick, arched eyebrows, giving her a beauty mingled with a fierceness. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, revealing a muscular thigh. His daughter. The Chieftess. I had never laid eyes on either of them before. I had never been this far away from my village before, to the center of the province, where our leaders lived.
Premonition Page 1