Chapter 2
This is Our Land
He can barely see through the foggy haze, and rubbing his eyes does little to improve his bleary vision.
Still, he can just about make out the strange yet beautiful forest, and the oddly shaped trees that rise from its floor, with jagged leaves that sway playfully in the morning breeze and soften the rays of the dawn light. Wild bushes shoot up from the rich soil below, scattered amongst which he sees mushrooms and fungi that throb with spots of radiant reds and violets, as if taking deep, luminous breaths.
Creatures that he has never seen before wander idly around the expansive space. Fluffy balls with the top halves of Chihuahuas and legs like rabbits hop past his feet and proceed deeper into the forest, while wild, deer-like beasts graze in the distance, each with a tuft of sparkling silver hair running from forehead to nose.
Despite these foreign shapes, the dreamer finds himself feeling almost serene inside, at peace with all of Creation. And even when he sees the savage-looking, bearded man gallop forth on his shire horse, he doesn’t panic.
The man, armored and armed, pulls the reins of his steed and halts progress. In the stillness, he pauses to deeply inhale the naturally perfumed forest air. His dark, piercing eyes hint at the wild ferocity of the spirit within.
Two young boys, seven or eight years old at a guess, emerge from the thicket behind and join his side. They are identical down to the last cuticle. Even their armors match, bearing the same markings and insignia as the bearded man. In demeanor, though, the boys could not be more different.
“When will we see it, Father?” asks the first one.
“Patience, Kaeninauth,” replies the man.
But Kaeninauth only crosses his arms and sulks. His brother attempts to calm him down using soothing gestures, but only succeeds in further aggravating him.
When the twinkling lights appear, they make Kaeninauth gasp in awe. They are clearly what the boy has been waiting for. Like fuzzy little pearl beads, the sentient parcels float on the air currents. The three riders watch the hypnotic swirling and swaying movements, transfixed.
Then, with a sudden jerk, the illuminations gather into a formation and race away from the riders, rounding a large redwood as they venture deeper into the forest.
“Quick! Follow them!” yells the man, jerking his horse into action with a tug on its reins and a kick of his heels. His eyes swivel wildly left to right, straining to keep up with the speeding lights.
Before long, the riders find themselves lost in the depths of the woods, but persevere in their pursuit of the luminous beads. They jump over bushes and protruding tree roots, and duck under branches and low-hanging vines. The dreamer finds himself being pulled along, too, and manages to cling on through every dizzying jump and turn. With a final rustle, the riders jump across a row of bushes and emerge upon a clearing, occupied primarily by a large lake.
The pristine waters, framed by alternating layers of Pickerelweeds and Blueflag Iris, shimmer in the orange of the dawn sky, reflecting it with broken perfection.
Judging by the thick cover of trees surrounding the clearing, the dreamer guesses that they are in the very heart of the forest. He senses that the twinkling lights are some sort of gatekeepers—sentinels that restrict access to this enigmatic fragment of an already strange forest.
By now the lights are a third of the way across the body of water, twisting and curling around each other as they speed away. As they approach the middle of the blue, they begin to slow down and circle each other in preparation.
Only once they are at the very center do the illuminated pearls begin their spellbinding dance, moving in complex unison, swaying then straightening, coiling back then springing forth. Advancing, retreating, spinning, twirling. Slowing. Then speeding up again.
Kaeninauth marvels at the beauty of the display.
A warm smile cracks the man’s beard as he watches the glee on his son’s face.
He dismounts his ride, and his boys follow suit. One after another, they cautiously tread the slippery bank of the lake to a secluded spot under the shade of trees where the well-worn grass tells of frequent visits. Together, they sit to meditate, their legs folded under them, their eyes shut.
Then a deep, sustained breath. Then another.
And then one of Kaeninauth’s eyes springs open. It darts from father to brother and back. Kaeninauth is disheartened to see the other two so deep in meditation so quickly.
For the ethereal watcher, though, it’s not just the way the boy’s head hangs. No, he can actually feel his emotions.
How? He has no idea.
Kaeninauth attempts to close his rebellious eye. It springs open, as if of its own accord. He tries it again and is, once again, plagued by the same result.
In the end, he gives up and opens the other eye too. Watching the concentration on the faces of his father and brother, he cannot help but feel left out.
With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, he begins to tug at the strangely shimmering oval blades of grass.
“Son,” the man says, not needing to open his eyes to know exactly what the boy is doing—or, rather, not doing. “If you fail to meditate correctly, your chakras will fail you.”
“I know, Father, but—”
“Your energies will no longer flow freely.” The man talks over the boy’s feeble protests, eyes now wide open and fixed on his son. “They will clot up.”
“But I want to—”
“In fact, your powers could get blocked entirely.”
“I want to see Niroku!” Kaeninauth finally blurts, and then, as if ashamed of his outburst, lowers his tone. “When will she be here?”
The father looks grimly at his son, and the dreamer can sense the man’s unwillingness to disappoint his boy with the truth. Nevertheless, the necessary words are forced out. “Kaeninauth… Niroku is not coming—”
“No! That can’t be! Konothone said she was!”
The man turns to the second boy and finds him not to be meditating either, but, instead, silently snickering to himself.
“Konothone,” he scolds, “you know you must not fill your brother’s head with such fairy tales, with such… nonsense. You know that Niroku is not real—”
“That is not true, Father. Our friend Slavizarus said—” starts Konothone, but his words fade quickly when he sees his father’s expression darken.
“Come now!” commands the father, causing the boys to lower their eyes. “We have more important matters to attend to. We must meditate upon Gaia. For it is us whom she has chosen to bestow herself unto.”
The boys nod—they seem to have heard this a thousand times before and, for that reason, seem to know exactly how important it is.
With a grand sweep of his arm across the horizon, the man motions to the luscious panorama before them. He speaks softly, as if uttering a revered morning prayer.
“All you see… All of this and more…” He turns to look straight at his offspring. “This is our land.”
Konothone turns his young eyes up to contemplate the vista that stretches out before him—from the sun peeking through the forest trees, to the shimmering sapphire lake. The view, as well as his father’s words, seem to deeply impress upon him. He nods obediently and closes his eyes to resume meditation.
Kaeninauth, though, is not so easily swayed. He shakes his head in defiance. “But Niroku—”
“Kaeninauth!” yells the man, having had enough of this immature frivolity. “There is no such thing as—”
But Kaeninauth’s gasp cuts him off.
Seeing the boy stare unblinkingly at something just over his shoulder, the man grits his teeth. His reflexes are sharp as a battle-hardened warrior’s, and his hand has already found the hilt of his weapon.
He turns swiftly, braced to fight whatever menace has snuck up on them.
And, just as quickly, he relaxes his grip, though his eyes remain wide open, for before him stands a creature of pure light, white as can be, gently
grazing on some apples from a nearby bush, with its body, mane, and tail throbbing luminously. It is a sight like nothing he has ever seen before.
He stares at the long, twisted horn protruding from its head, and at the icy sparks of silver pulsing up and down the bony curls. It looks at him and neighs curiously, and, with his head cocked, he stares back with matched interest.
Until an overhead eruption turns his attention skywards.
The boys look up too. Gone is the beauty of dawn, replaced by charcoal and fire. Smoke and dust rain down from an aerial battle that has, somehow, already been raging across the skies above them. Large warriors on larger creatures fight with explosions of pulsating energy.
As the trio bring their sights back down, they recoil with shock. Gone is the serene forest, replaced by a scorched battlefield. And gone, also, is the svelte being of light, in its place leaving a colossal shadow of scales and teeth.
Eyes like glowing embers flicker yellow and orange as the creature they belong to seeks out its new prey. The two hollow pits at the front of its face flare open as it sniffs them out. Then it sets the ground ablaze with its deadly fumes.
The man and his children duck and scatter to avoid being incinerated. The beast rears up for a second burst
But before it can ignite, it is struck by a bolt of lightning.
And the silent watcher, who has been witnessing blurry dream turn to horrifying nightmare with alarm and fright, is suddenly imbued with a deep sense of gloom. The reason for his despair, it seems, should be obvious. Yet, in the moment, it eludes him.
And before he knows it, Keane finds himself inside a dark ball made of smoke and electricity, flying through a swirling black expanse, unable to tell which way is up.
He knows that this is a dream. But then why does the fear feel so real? And it only intensifies when the screams of a young boy rings out from afar, like a distant dagger to his heart. Then, he discovers that he himself is screaming, too.
Like an explosion inside Keane’s ears, a thunderstorm erupts. Rain and lightning assert their presence. A fence of barbed wire screams toward him as does the immense, grey structure beyond it. Keane sees sky and rain, then the rapidly approaching fence, then ground, then the sky again.
And before he knows it, before he can brace for impact, he has already gone through the barbed wire and crashed into the grey concrete.
His murky container implodes around him, shaking him to the bone, leaving in its wake only nothingness…
And in the quiet darkness, there is a feeling of peace. Of a rebirth. Of a second chance.
A low whisper breaks the silence.
“Kenid akhnayram.”
In that brief, fleeting moment, Keane understands.
The dragon, the warriors, the clashing energies, the dark clouds of electricity, the storm… Everything makes sense.
He remains blissfully unaware, though, that, seconds later, when he awakens back in his dorm room, this moment of total comprehension, this epiphany, will be the one and only aspect of the dream that he will not remember.
Book of Dark #1: Always Stand Up Page 3