by Melissa Frey
Then she was gone; the village disappeared from view. Now she was standing in a grassy clearing somewhere in the forest. Across the large clearing, several rugged, scantily-clad men were training in war games—grappling with each other, sparring with makeshift swords. They didn’t seem to notice her.
The image faded again, into something else. She found herself transported to the edge of the forest on a sandy path, one that led out of the forest to a village just beyond, a village that looked just like the one she’d just seen from afar. Children ran by her into the darkness of the dense forest. They didn’t even look up as they passed by.
She saw women scurrying about the village, towing baskets and pots from tent to tent, loading and unloading them in a frenzy. As Kayla stared at the sight, taking it all in, she felt a curious uneasiness creep into the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong.
The women started moving faster; the children whirred by her in a blur. Straw baskets and clay pots were being snatched up and thrown to the ground in rapid succession. But they weren’t breaking.
Kayla couldn’t understand what was happening. Why was everyone so rushed? And why didn’t anyone notice that everyone else was speeding up?
Then, abruptly, Kayla realized what was going on. The people weren’t moving faster—the picture was. The scene sped up, blurring around the edges. Kayla started to get a little dizzy.
Suddenly the scene was whirring by so quickly that all Kayla could see was a blur of gray, the colors swirling and indistinct. Kayla tried to grab onto something to keep her from falling over, but there was nothing within reach. Then there was just nothing.
Kayla would’ve fallen to the ground if there’d been ground underneath her—if there’d been anything underneath her. She was frozen, staring straight ahead at images flying by so fast that all her brain could register was an eerie darkness. They were moving so fast that it almost seemed like they’d stopped.
Then, with a blinding flash, the images did stop. She was staring at a picture, an image forming out of the blackness. An image that stopped her heart.
In front of her, much too close and in grotesque detail, the people from before—all the people she’d seen in the village—were suddenly being horribly and gruesomely slaughtered. Tears ran down her face as the men, women, and children came against an invisible force, one that threw them to the ground with a vicious and relentless fury, leaving them spent and lifeless in pools of their own blood.
Kayla was choking, unable to catch her breath. The air was too thick, too repugnant to draw into her lungs. She was sobbing, fighting the growing darkness she felt welling up inside her.
The images dimmed, then blacked out completely. Kayla was exceedingly grateful. She couldn’t stare at the faces of those brutally murdered people and continue to breathe.
Then Kayla was suddenly back in the cavern. The shock of it rocked her backward. The ladder teetered beneath her. She gasped and instinctively threw herself toward the boulder with so much force she was knocked breathless for a split second.
Her sudden adjustment had worked; she was no longer shaking atop the ladder. But her crash to the boulder had affected the boulder itself. Now, at the exact spot the ladder rested, the boulder was breaking apart.
Slowly at first, then gradually speeding up, tiny pebbles began to flow from the enormous rock to the floor below. The rocky surface that was holding Kayla up was disintegrating right in front of her. Kayla’s eyes shot to the floor below. She wouldn’t make it down fast enough.
She jerked her gaze back to the globe. It was still sitting atop the boulder, unmoving, but it wouldn’t hold for long—the rockslide was growing. She had to do something, and fast.
Without thinking, Kayla reached for the globe. It came away from the rock easily, as if it had never been attached and had been simply resting on the rocky surface. As soon as she picked it up, the cascade of rocks abruptly stopped. For a split second, time itself stopped.
Then the rockslide began again, with a vengeance. Kayla jumped into action, tucking the globe awkwardly but carefully under one arm and starting down the ladder.
The ladder was moving beneath her; without the stabilizing force of the rock, the ladder was free to sway in the cavern’s now dust-filled air. She struggled to hold on, struggled to descend; she couldn’t do both. Doing just one was becoming increasingly difficult.
Then she was suddenly still. The earth wasn’t moving beneath her. She almost laughed at how odd that felt.
She glanced down, and realized why she wasn’t moving. Grady and all the workers in the room were huddled at the base of the ladder, stabilizing it. She’d have to give them all raises.
She climbed down quickly, flashing what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Grady, in particular, didn’t look like he was buying it.
Once she was within reach, Grady stretched up to help her down, placing both hands on her sides to steady her on the last few steps. She’d reached the bottom much too slowly, but she’d reached it without injuring herself or dropping the globe. Point for her.
She handed the globe to Grady carefully. He took it only after hesitating for a split second. Kayla understood why; it was still glowing.
The light in the room was still shining, but was gradually dissipating. Kayla—well, technically the cascade of pebbles that she had caused—had removed the light’s catalyst. The globe Grady now held, almost reverently, had been keeping the room lit. Kayla was almost sorry she’d removed the globe.
But not completely. She’d give up the light in the room to be able to get the sphere under a microscope. It was getting a little unnerving in here, anyway.
The workers dispersed, taking the ladder with them, satisfied that their boss was out of danger. Grady stayed close. Kayla knew he was just concerned, but there was nothing to be worried about. There wasn’t a scratch on her, right?
Grady was looking her over. “You okay?” His voice was strained.
Kayla nodded quickly, a little too quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” She chuckled, trying to sound blasé. She just ended up sounding like she was trying to sound blasé.
Grady gingerly set the globe on the sandy ground. He tentatively drew Kayla to his side in a one-armed hug. “You sure you’re okay? What happened up there?”
Kayla shrugged. She didn’t want to explain it—honestly, she couldn’t explain it. There weren’t really words. Not ones that she was able to come up with, anyway.
Grady backed up and stared at her. He didn’t look like he was buying it.
Kayla tried again. “Really, I’m fine.” She managed what she thought was a believable smile.
He still didn’t look like he bought it, but he returned her smile, albeit apprehensively. Kayla knew he wouldn’t believe her until she explained herself. Which she would do, someday, once she understood it.
As she watched Grady return to the workers, she felt something pull inside her. Only the brief stirrings of something she couldn’t put her finger on, but it was definitely there. Her experience with the globe had changed her. Something inside of her had been awakened, like the flipping on of a light switch. Whatever it was, she had the distinct feeling that something was now set in motion, something she couldn’t stop. She knew, with an unsettling certainty, that her life was about to change.
Kayla couldn’t sleep. Her restless mind would not slow down long enough for her to relax. It was beyond frustrating.
After several hours of tossing and turning on her increasingly uncomfortable cot, Kayla eventually fell into an agitated sleep. But the disturbing dreams that filled her sporadic sleep did little to calm her down.
First, she was back overlooking the large village, the men training in the clearing, the women and children going about their daily tasks near their tents—everything was exactly as she’d seen it earlier, right down to the pair of dark-haired children running past her into the forest. Then, just as before, the images of the women sped up, and the world began to fly by in fron
t of her eyes. She cringed as she fought the growing disorientation. She knew the pictures would stop flying by soon—but she also knew what was coming next.
The gruesome images again invaded her mind. She started to feel sick, even knowing it was only a dream. Somehow the blood seemed even thicker than before, the murders even more horrific. People—fellow humans with hopes, dreams, and aspirations—were being eviscerated right before her eyes by an unseen force, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She braced for the end of the dream, braced herself for something unseen to jar her awake. She didn’t want to wake up. If she did, she might actually be sick, right off the edge of her cot. She fought to control the nausea.
But then something unexpected happened: the grisly images were suddenly gone, flashing into oblivion. Kayla felt a strong sense of relief for a brief second, but it didn’t last long. Pain came back in a rush.
It wasn’t the pain of nausea, or the pain of a physical wound. Her eyes involuntarily squeezed shut as the pain of a blinding white light glared in the space the images had once held only moments ago. Her mind’s eye sought relief from a light as bright as the sun but found none.
The light was reminiscent of the brilliance in the cavern hundreds of feet below where she slept, but infinitely brighter. It glowed with an almost irreverent glory, shining so brightly that nothing could stand against it. The shining light was so pervasive that it seemed to take on a life of its own, a life essence that moved around her, clung to her skin.
Kayla shuddered in her sleep. The light was invading her dream, invading her body without her permission. She now wished she could wake up, but she couldn’t fight her way past the light. Couldn’t even shut it out.
Then, not nearly soon enough, the light quickly receded like a cloud imploding in on itself; the edges of the light flowed into its center until it swallowed its own essence. The sudden darkness was somehow comforting—but it wasn’t dark for long.
Kayla, once able to see again, stared in wonder as a picture came into focus, fluctuating and quivering like an old movie. Nothing about the wavering image in front of her carried any import, but Kayla’s eyes were transfixed on it anyway. She couldn’t look away.
The image remained constant, in motion but somehow still, unlike the scenes preceding it. Kayla took it all in.
In front of her was a breathtaking view of a windblown, snowcapped mountain, one surrounded by a forest of trees. She could almost feel the icy wind gusting through the trees, feel the blowing snow biting at her cheeks. She shivered at the scene before her. What was this place?
Kayla jerked upright on her cot, startled awake. The image was burned in her mind, as clear to her in waking as it had been in sleep. She bit her lip, contemplating the dream. What did it mean?
Then it hit her, as abruptly as a bolt of lightning. The mountain in her dream, the windswept scene burned into her memory—she recognized it.
She’d never been there before. There was no logical reason she should know that place. But she knew what it was, where it was—and that she had to go there. She knew—though she didn’t know how—that something was there she needed to find.
CHAPTER 5
Na-um
Somewhere in the Belize Rainforest
The Hunter sped through the forest, long black hair flowing behind him like a flag on the mast of an ancient battleship. His breathing settled into an easy rhythm, only slightly faster than normal despite his exertion. His ears, able to pick up every sound for miles despite his speed, tracked the beast in front of him. Though the beast was still a little over a mile away, he was closing the distance quickly.
Na-um, the one his people called “The Hunter,” pushed harder, hurtling himself through the forest even faster. He barely noticed the trees that he effortlessly dodged, the fallen logs he easily catapulted over, or the swaying foliage that barely brushed his feet but never slowed him down. He loved running like this—the freedom and serenity of the forest calmed him, cleared his head as it flew by at lightning speeds.
Then, as though the dense forest in front of him split down the middle, he could see the beast ahead of him. His eyes peered through the trees, leaves, and bushes and spotted the massive animal, hundreds of yards away. Na-um grinned wickedly, then pushed himself to the breaking point to close the distance.
Na-um jerked to a stop, sending up a spray of dirt and mud that cascaded down the straps of leather that comprised his outfit and the darkly tanned skin of his muscular forearms and legs. He was still a good distance away from the beast; his small disturbance in the forest wouldn’t attract his prey’s attention.
He sunk into a crouch, inching his way closer to the oblivious beast. Then he stopped.
Just in front of him, the dense undergrowth of the forest was ending, disappearing into a grassy clearing. Every muscle in Na-um’s body tensed. The beast nonchalantly lowered its muzzle to the ground, its jaws smoothly rotating as it fed on the tall grass of the clearing. Despite the apparent peacefulness of the beast, Na-um knew it wouldn’t stay still for very long. He had to move fast, or he’d lose his chance.
Moving as few muscles as possible, Na-um slowly and deliberately stretched his hand to the back of his neck. Sheathed along his back was a handmade spear, a razor-sharp arrowhead attached to the end of a thick bamboo stalk with strong twine. The spear made no sound as Na-um carefully slid it out and held it at his side. He raised it soundlessly into position.
The beast, unaware of its imminent demise, grazed contentedly. Its head never left the ground as it enjoyed what would turn out to be its final meal.
The spear soared across the clearing.
A sickening wailing emanated from the beast as the arrowhead struck its side and burrowed deep in its chest. It howled, raising its head toward the sky. Its mournful cries pierced the tranquility of the forest. Na-um came out of his crouch and sprinted into the large clearing, crossing it in no more than two seconds. He approached the beast, which lay sprawled out on the ground, hind legs futilely kicking the air. Na-um watched as the beast pulled in one last, shuddering breath.
The Hunter had won.
“Na-um! Na-um!” A young boy, black hair cascading wildly around his shoulders, sprinted into the clearing. His bare feet slid across the damp grass as he tried to slow down. Na-um stifled a wide grin. He’d had trouble stopping when he’d first started running, too.
Once the boy had found his footing, he bounded over to Na-um. “Come home, Na-um!” He shouted in their native tongue. “We are ready to eat.”
Na-um bent down and scooped the young boy up in his arms, squeezing him tightly. After a quick embrace, he set the boy back down on the damp grass. He crossed his arms and stood looking down at the boy, answering back in the only language he knew the boy would understand. This boy was too young to have learned much of the many languages those in the Clan were bred to speak. He would start mastering those a few years from now. “Oh, are we? And how did you even know to come look for me here?”
The child in front of him looked down at the ground. His words came out softly. “I heard you.”
“What?” Na-um prodded, trying to get him to speak up. He shouldn’t be ashamed of his powers.
The boy looked up suddenly, staring directly into Na-um’s eyes, his lips tightening into a straight line. “I heard you running through the forest. I heard you stop here. I heard the beast fall. So I came to find you.”
One side of Na-um’s mouth turned up. He was pleased. This young boy was just coming into his powers, the powers he and the members of his Clan shared. This little man needed to know how to use his powers, certainly, but more importantly, he needed to be proud of them. They were a gift from the heavens. His people were given them to do good. They should all be sending up prayers that they were endowed with these powers, not hiding them.
Na-um patted the boy’s head gently. “Good. You are learning quickly. Soon you will be able to hunt just as I can.”
The boy looked up at
him and beamed.
Na-um reached for his hand. “Let us return to the village. We will go eat.”
The boy looked over at the fallen beast. “What about that?”
Na-um shrugged. “I will send someone for it. The Clan will be fed for many days.”
A playful laugh burst from the boy’s lips as they took off down the forested path.
As Na-um approached the village, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He couldn’t really see anything yet, just patches of khaki-colored canvas peeking through the trees at the edge of the forest, but he could tell something wasn’t right. He slowed to a stop, halting the boy’s progress as well. The child looked up at him and Na-um noiselessly shook his head. The boy’s eyes grew wide, spreading to take up nearly half of his face, but he stayed quiet.
Na-um froze, listening to the sounds of the village—or, rather, listening for the sounds of the village. All was quiet save one voice, far away . . .
Still holding the boy’s hand, Na-um ventured toward the still village. He’d never seen—or heard—his village like this. It could only mean one thing.
And it wasn’t good.
Na-um, with a tighter-than-normal grip on the young boy’s hand, crept through the large collection of canvas tents that housed his people. His eyes took in the eerie sight of a fire pit with flames burning brightly and a charred piece of what used to be meat spitted over the fire, still cooking. At his feet, an abandoned doll lay in the dirt. He squatted down and picked it up. The boy let go of Na-um’s hand and walked out of sight, then returned a few seconds later holding a small wooden toy.
The boy whispered a question in Na-um’s ear. “What happened?”