Jason shook his head at his friend’s antics. “Hell yeah, dude! My dad said with the extra money I can get the whole Mac set-up I’ve been drooling over – the computer, iPad, and the new iPhone in one sha-bang!” He could barely contain his excitement.
“Damn, dude, now that’s a good deal,” agreed Joaquin, smiling broadly, his eyes lighting up with delight. Getting the Apple line in one fell swoop? Freakin’ awesome!
They drifted off into silence, both contemplating the situation, weighing the sacrifice and the eventual reward.
“So, is it cool?”
“Yeah, I think it’s real cool.” Joaquin’s eyes were still a million miles away.
“No, man, is it cool if I stay with you guys for a few days?” chided Jason, shaking his head in disgust.
Joaquin laughed, feeling a little lame at not paying attention. “Yeah, man, it’s all good. We’ll put you up for a few days,” he said as he walked over and fake punched the smaller boy in the shoulder. “And in the meantime, you and me could figure out some sort of workout for you to go on to curb these urges to exercise you’ve suddenly developed inside you.”
“Cool, man, thanks.”
“Dude, you guys got anything to eat? I’m starving,” asked Joaquin the subject decided upon, his mind already upon the next topic – his stomach.
“I think we have some left over Chinese food from Sun’s. You want some of that?” offered Jason after a second or two in contemplation.
“Works for me!” he agreed. His stomach was already growling at the prospect of chow mien, chung-pow chicken, and all the usual assortment of dishes Jason and his father typically ordered when they bought take-out from Sun’s restaurant on Figueroa Street in Highland Park.
~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~
~ 8 ~
Linked Portents
Friday, November 19th, 12:36am…
“Jötuns, Nixae.”
What did you say? Who was that?
In complete darkness, it was many voices spoken at once. Anthony couldn’t discern from which direction they had come. He turned to his left and then his right, trying as hard as he could to make the slightest detail in the inky murk surrounding him. He failed.
“Jötuns, Nixae, Isighunds,” the voices came again.
He spun around, whipping his head back and forth as he did so, turning in a complete circle. His feet tangled and he fell to the ground. Instinctively, he braced himself for impact. An instant later, he realized, to his horror, when he should’ve hit something. He hadn’t. Rather, he continued to fall, down, deep, faster and faster. A strangled wail escaped from his lips as his guts twisted and he felt himself accelerate… and then accelerate even more. Instinctively, he spread out his arms and legs as far as they could go. A vain attempt to create as much drag as possible, hoping against hope, he’d slow down. But, he didn’t.
Still, he fell.
He screamed for all it was worth, a scream unlike any he had ever uttered in his life… until he ran out of breath.
Still, he fell…
Then… with bone jarring force, he smacked into something cold, lifeless, unyielding. Before he could register anything, a new, more thorough darkness took him from within. He was lost to it.
*****
Suddenly, he was awake. His eyes were blinking rapidly, vision blurred, a mind-numbing headache pounding at his temples. He lay there, bewildered and uncertain. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. His hand came up to massage the bridge of his nose and then rub at his aching orbs. A stab of pain hit him in the back of his neck, making him contort slightly against the knifing hurt.
“God damn it!” was all he could manage. He sat up and put his head between his knees, steadying his breathing, the air filling and un-filling him - a rhythm he could use to focus. With time, the agony subsided to more tolerable levels. Just breathe, Tony, just breathe, he thought, though not without some difficulty. He pretended someone else was giving him the advice and not himself - someone older and wiser, who could help him out of this predicament, or at least make him think straight.
He stayed there, bent over, hands on either side of his head – a minute passed, then five, ten, and then a few more.
Finally, he was able to look up. Instantly, realized he could see, although slightly, but definitely better than the bewildering ebon of before. He peered about and, with a surprised jerk, making his whole body spasm, he realized he was in a cave. A Cave? What cave? He glanced about, unbelieving eyes seeing rough rock all around. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, stalagmites protruding from the floor – both sorts, all about him.
“How did I get here?” he said aloud, startled at the volume of echo bouncing back at him.
Then his eyes locked upon the source of the light. Again, he was puzzled, trying to figure out exactly what he was looking at. What was it? He thought back to all the good books his dad recommended he read, the Sword of Shannara or the Eye of the World, and still the name eluded him. What was the word he was looking for?
Was the word…sconces?
A sconce: a forged metal bracket specifically designed to hold a burning brand or torch.
Was that what he was looking at?
Like his sister’s stupid dog Mugzy, he turned his head to the side in an attempt to comprehend what he was seeing before he could catch himself. Anthony let his gaze search more of the chamber, from each ensconced torch to the next, until he’d made a complete circuit.
“Where am I?” he asked, unsure of what to believe.
“You are with us, and you are safe.”
This time it wasn’t many voices coming from every direction. No, this one was voice and it was directly behind him. Without thinking, he turned, not certain of what to expect. What he didn’t expect was to find himself staring at nothing, but the cavern wall.
“Well, isn’t that typical? I feel better already,” he muttered under his breath, apparently sarcasm was still something he could exude into his speech. “One voice or a lot of them, it still adds up to the simple fact, I’ve completely lost it.” He let his eyes wonder another turn about the cave.
“You must listen, youngling, you must listen very carefully, for what we are about to speak is of upmost importance. There is no time for games, so I must have I your full attention,” said the voice. This time it was spoken in his head and within the cavern simultaneously - echoing, resonating, and spoken with an accent he’d never heard before.
“Who are you guys? Why did you bring me here?” replied the boy, no longer caring if he was bonkers. He wanted answers. With each passing moment the experience was beginning to scare him evermore.
“You came to us,” the voice said quietly, “after bidding you to come hither, of course, but still, you managed to come to us of your own volition, under your own power.”
“You gotta be kidding me, dude. I came to you?” exclaimed Anthony, already running through the things that had happened to him a few hours before.
He had stood up a little late capturing a fort with his clan. It was supposedly the largest fort on the continent of Aden in Lineage II - the game he played with so many of his friends and family. He recalled his mother had allowed it, because it was the last day of the school week. After he and his clan-mates had vanquished the inner defenses and celebrated their victory, he had logged off, his eyes grainy with the strain of staring at his laptop screen for so long with such intensity. Then, he’d gone to bed.
To bed… he had gone to bed in Los Angeles, California. Not in this…this…this god forsaken cavern! So how did he manage to get here, if he’d come to them? How could he have…traveled? Unless, this was a dream, could he be dreaming?
“Listen, child, you must hear what we have to tell you.”
“But, how did I come here if I went to bed in my house, in Los Angeles? I’m dreaming, right?” Anthony asked pressing the issue, his was voice insistent, but fraught with fear.
“It is not important,” came to voice again, inside and outside of
his head. “Now Listen.”
“But –“
“It is time, my child, to unlock the potential living within you. It is a thing we must accomplish posthaste, for time is of the essence, so focus, young one, and listen –,” attempted the voice once more, but Anthony still did not understand.
“But, I don’t –.”
“If you will not listen, then we will force you! There is not enough time for us, for you, to exist in this place, together!”
There was such desperate ferocity in the tone. Anthony’s train of thought broke. He cocked his head to the side, grasping at understanding, feeling an eerie tingling beginning to crawl up his spine and lodge at the very back of his neck.
“What do you mean -?” was all he’d managed to say when the cavern suddenly exploded with light. A white, searing light, that blinded him, burnt him, pain lancing through his eyes and into his head. He was unable to contain it. It flowed freely throughout his body.
Anthony screamed for the second time - harrowing, from his very marrow. Once more, a wail unlike any he’d ever uttered before. It came from his soul.
“This is the only way. You are the lynchpin. You must be unlocked. There is no time…”
Standing, rigid with agony, unable to raise his hands to his exploding brain, Anthony seemed to snap, break, and fall. He was a heap, collapsing onto the ground before he knew what was happening. His head smacked horribly against the granite of the cavern floor, blood and brains both squirting from his hideously cracked skull.
He was vanquished in a moment. All he knew, all he was… died.
*****
Anthony vaulted from his bed with a blood-curling howl. Instinctively, he reached for his smashed head, searching, questing, feeling… and finding…nothing.
He wasn’t injured.
A god damned dream! he thought to himself, glancing at the clock beside his bed. It read: 12:43 am. Jeez, man, I have only been asleep for a half-hour! His thoughts continued with the images, the sensations, of his dream. They flooded back to him like a mental levy breaking in his mind.
There was a series of thunderous thuds sounding outside in the hall, and then upon his door. A heartbeat later, his father burst into the room like some deranged firefighter. “Tony! Are you ok?” was his father’s exclamation as his bedroom door crashed into the wall. The doorknob imbedded itself into the drywall and on came the lights in what seemed a millisecond to him.
“Whoa!” Anthony reacted, shielding himself from the instant brilliance.
“Tony!” His father rushed to his bedside, hands and arms extended, pulling covers back to see if he was all right.
Anthony’s pajama covered legs were exposed to the cold air within the house. “Dad, Dad, I’m cool! It was a nightmare, Dad,” rushed the boy, trying to get his father to calm down, pulling the blankets back over himself. Damn, it’s cold tonight!
“A… what...?” asked his father, wiping his hand across his forehead. It was beaded with sweat. He stood there next to Anthony’s bed, in his boxer shorts and t-shirt with the arms cut off, “Viva Las Vegas!” written across the bottom. There was a cartoon-like version of Elvis emblazoned about the entire front of the ancient looking garment.
“It was a…a nightmare.”
“Jesus Christ, Anthony, I thought you were being chopped in half or something,” replied his father still panting and looking about the room to see if there was anything else amiss. His hands were on his hips, rubbing at his briefs, then tugging nervously at the hem of his shirt.
“It was just a nightmare,” explained the boy, clutching at his head as a headache began to rise.
“Well, it sounded like you were getting crushed by an airplane engine like that Donny Dimwit kid.” His father glanced toward the bedroom door, as Anthony’s mother appeared in the doorway, in her robe. Elena wasn’t far behind in her old - worn out at the knees - Strawberry Shortcake Pajama’s.
“Darko, Dad,” corrected Anthony. “The kids name was Donny Darko. He was the one who got -.”
“What?” said his father, interrupting him, though he wasn’t actually paying any attention to him. He wanted silence, so he could think.
“Is everything ok?” asked his mother tentatively, still unsure what was going on.
“Donny Dimwit here had a nightmare,” replied his father, still sort of breathing heavily.
Anthony and Elena both chuckled at his error.
“Oh,” his mother inhaled abruptly. “It must have been a bad one, then, huh?” she asked coming into his room, but didn’t walk near his bed, as had his father.
“I’m okay, mom. I just have a headache that’s all,” explained Anthony, already getting uncomfortable at having so many people in his room, at one time.
“Alright, I’ll get you some Tylenol for the pain, so we can all go back to bed,” stated his mother, already putting the incident behind her. She left for the bathroom.
“Where’s Mikalah?” asked his father, turning, speaking to Elena now.
She merely shrugged and said, “Still asleep.”
“Typical,” was all their father said, heading for the door. “Try not to have another nightmare, okay son? I don’t think I can take another scare like that in the same night and not have a heart attack.” He’d turned back toward Anthony, eyebrows arched, imploring him.
“I’ll try, Dad.”
Anthony’s mom returned with the Tylenol and a water bottle, while his father gathered up Elena intent on putting her back to bed. Anthony took the pills and chugged them along with a healthy gulp of water.
“Now try and get some sleep, mijo. It’s late,” uttered his mother as she stood up, leaving the water bottle on the nightstand, next to his digital clock and made for the light switch.
“I will,” mumbled Anthony, as his room returned to darkness. The door closed quietly. He lay there, silently thinking about the dream, feeling the rapid-release of the medicine reduce the pressure inside his head. That was some trippy dream, he thought and turned on side right side. Outside, he could hear the wind blow through the trees surrounding their house. Maybe, there was a storm coming.
Maybe there was more than one…
It was an errant thought, but it stuck with him, having come from somewhere deep within. As if to reply in kind, he felt a silent “pop”, in the hallow fo his chest and within the very core of his brain. He felt them together, as if they’d occurred in the same place. It was a vibration more than anything else, a quick quivering, there one instant, gone the next. It was followed, immediately, by… nothing. It was as if something sprung open and loosed itself upon the world, but there was no after effect.
He waited anxiously to see what would happen next, but nothing more followed – absolutely nothing.
What the heck? he thought…
*****
…At the same moment, within the very same heartbeat, over the ridge, separating Highland Park from Eagle Rock, Joaquin’s eyes popped open. So suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. He glanced around uncertain. Should he be scared? Should he be looking for the huge Samoan dude he’s been dreaming of wrestling, in the sand, at Santa Monica Beach, seconds earlier?
Then, he realized, he was back in his room. He was in his queen-sized bed, though his head was pounding, hurting, for no reason. It was intense. He could only ascertain it was painful and no more.
It was no longer than a single exhalation when the words began to come to him – strange and foreign groupings of letters, unlike anything he could fathom. Where they even words to begin with? These weren’t his ideas. They weren’t concepts of he’d created. He hadn’t thought of them. He didn’t know them, understand them. It was as if someone else had placed them there, in his mind, at the very forefront of himself. He was unable to ignore them. He was forced to place them above the mountainous morass of his own thoughts. Had someone opened his head and shoved them in…?
Joaquin’s eyes widened for an instant, thoughts washing over him like a brook becoming
a stream with the spring thaw, rolling, tumbling, growing into a realization so startling, he almost sat up in bed once again. Had something placed these words within him on purpose? Unfamiliar words like Jötun, Nixae, Isighund, Swûreg, and Fenris. They were shouting in his head, and wouldn’t stop. Could it be true? Had it really happened? Had something happened... to him… in a cave?
No, that wasn’t me. That was him. Him. HIM!!!
He burrowed deeper into his pillow as the number of words began to expand exponentially, flashing through his mind, meaningless and without form. They were explanations of thought devoid of import, empty and hallow – hundreds upon hundreds, then thousands, tens of thousands. Was it a language? Was it many languages or maybe the same language over a vast period in time?
With so many questions and absolutely no answers, Joaquin peered around his room, completely lost in trains of thought he couldn’t comprehend. A slight buzzing began to sound in his ear. It was the buzzing of silence, utter stillness, beyond the words. Cloaked in the shadows of his bedroom, of his mind, the very space about him became strange and unreal, the play of the moonlight and the darkness of the night. They were all made foreign. Simple objects became otherworldly, bizarre, and then… alien. They are not of this world, he said, speaking to a detached portion of himself, though hadn’t spoken aloud. His voice was lost. His objections were overruled. And, all the while, the words continued to stream before his mind’s eye.
What was happening? He shouted from within as the numbness of oblivion began to change, to twist into something more tangible, more real. It was an emotion he could understand and express – fear. It descended mercilessly and without warning, piercing and cold, as if the devil himself had suddenly manifested in his bedroom.
The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves Page 8
