Shadows of Reality (The Catharsis Awakening Book 1)

by Christian Martin Jr.

  I felt like I just ran a marathon. Emotionally, physically and mentally, I felt exhausted. In the back of my mind, thoughts of failure continued to swirl but it seemed to fade from thought. Did crying really help?

  “Relieved?” his question seemed to be right on cue.

  “Yeah…I mean, yes,” I replied. I was relieved, somehow. But I still had questions that caused my mind to spin. “Why?”

  “Because if you are truly accepting of yourself and of your path, you will be relieved; you will have poise and balance in all things.”

  I slowly nodded. I have no idea how many times he repeated that to me, but he seemed to grow in my mind as someone who was much bigger than what I saw before me.

  “There is much to explain; however, there is even much more to do now,” he spoke with a half-grin. “You must write, it reinforces what is done here; within you, your catharsis, my King, it releases and galvanizes at the same moment.

  “Now, I…must leave, only for a few moments. We know—and there is no time to explain fully—of an attack being planned against this place, and I—”

  “What? Why? These are the things I need to know, Yeor.” I practically jumped to my feet. The thought hit me like a lightening bolt. “I must know! Why now did I wake up to another realm?”

  “Oneiron is where the waking receive rest, organize thoughts, memories, and a stirring of hope. Deprive a man of rest for a day, and his processes—his thoughts and actions—will be that of a man on strong mead; however, deprive a man of rest for many days, and you will drive that man mad.

  “Every generation has a protector for each dominion in Oneiron, chosen by the Ancient. A protector that must be executed by a man or a woman from the Waking Realm. You, Matthew, are that man, in this generation. It is a most disturbing transition for men, and women, to become cognitive: aware, and to experience a realm that the Waking only remember fragmented glimpses of.

  “And we, have been given a most sacred opportunity to come here, the Land Between the Realms, it is not permitted; however, this is a time of rarity. Three of you have come into cognition. The realms are being entered at will; by you three, and the enemy. We must find the reason for this breach, my King…and soon.” Yeor finished, and turned slightly to gaze into the blur.

  I was speechless. Startling, new, overwhelming, all at the same time. I no longer remembered any of my questions. He peered into the mass of green and gray, and then looked back at me. “Time is of the essence, Matthew. I must leave, and you must stay. I shan’t be long…I hope. Write, Matthew.”

  I wanted to protest but the words couldn’t leap from my lips fast enough; he had turned and disappeared beyond the edge of the green blur.

  25

  OF MATTHEW: PAPER TO STEEL

  As I write this, my vision and my sense of smell appears to sharpen with every word. The blurred edge of green that Yeor vanished into has become a lush forest with thick vines spiraling upward on most of the trees.

  Every so often I catch the smell of the ocean carried by the breeze. I’m not sure which direction it is because the breeze seems to swirl around within the little hollow where I sit in the middle of this clearing.

  I have no clue what day it is, how long I’ve been here, or even how long Yeor’s been gone. The sun doesn’t set; as a matter of fact, even though it’s bright here, I haven’t seen the sun. The sky is a mixture of grays and deep blues but no real clouds to speak of. The tufts of grass that dot the landscape around me are soft and comfortable to sit on—although I prefer the log that Yeor was sitting on before he left.

  I’ve written a lot since Yeor left. It’s a strange request. Although, this journal that Alie suggested I write, has helped me a ton since I started it. I think it was the very thing that triggered my memories of Yeor, the castle, and the people there. And when I started this journal back then, I began to recall dreams of Oneiron that go all the way back to when I was a kid.

  I recall pieces of dreams I had as a child; riding a stallion, fighting in some battle, walking in a castle, but all the memories have been so vague and disjointed—like all dreams are—I couldn’t make anything out of those memories, until now.

  I don’t know exactly what Yeor meant by “this reinforces what’s done here,” but it seems to help sort things out in my head, and to get things off my chest that have felt like deadweight laying on my shoulders. I think everyone needs some sort of release like this.

  The cry helped. Hard to explain, but after living for years without that kind of an emotional release—and without anyone who would really listen and give any meaningful feedback—this journal, this catharsis…helps, and the whole thought of acceptance just tipped me over the emotional edge.

  The lack of sleep has been mind boggling; the past 12 years I’ve operated on three to five hours of sleep every night—every stinking night, to include my days off. No wonder I feel emotionally unstable; at least I can put on a good front most of the time. Not to mention that on most days, my stomach and muscles hurt, and my brain doesn’t seem to work correctly until I get coffee into my veins—pathetic!

  Then there’s my mind, always mulling over a broken marriage, then to work, then to how I get no sleep, then to how stupid I can be as a sergeant. I can’t seem to get anything right and it’s just a show I put on, a mask like I just mentioned…at least, that’s how I feel most days; hell, everyday, always this feeling I’m not good enough.

  And so, here it is, I need to accept—the fact that I’m not perfect, and human, and probably need to take better care of myself. It’s slow in coming, but I do feel like I’ve turned a corner, somehow.

  I have failed at many things. Probably, after thinking about it, most of what we think of as failures, aren’t failures at all. Shortcomings? Perhaps character flaws that we magnify and obsess over until they become gaping chasms of self-doubt and self-loathing? Funny, I see this at work in the office with the guys. Always beating themselves up over stupid minor things they did or didn’t do. Am I so different? I’ll tell them that it’s not a big deal and try to get them to see what they are good at; yet it’s hard to do this for myself. Easier to tell everyone else how to live but not practice the same for myself. I hope I can have a bit more faith in myself in days to come.

  Then…there’s the matter of Alie. God! I think…I’m falling in love with her. We connect on so many levels. She actually pays attention and notices things I don’t even say.

  And that, all in itself, creates so much anxiety. I’m married, at least on paper! How do I reconcile these feelings I have for Alie when I’m supposedly (in the eyes of a court) committed to someone else? Is it guilt? Why? Well, I just couldn’t help but tell her how I felt before I left dispatch. I’m not sure what to make of all this, but I do know that it feels like a breath of fresh air when I’m around her. I think—

  “Draw your sword and be ready,” Yeor shouted as he burst into the clearing. “The enemy has amassed and their scouts will be here shortly.”

  I didn’t even hear him come through the forest, it was like he just appeared from the thick undergrowth. He looked a little out of breath. I couldn’t help but think, Where is his staff?

  “Yeor, I don’t have a sword, and where’s your—” I stated with my arms out while holding my journal in one hand and pen in the other.

  I stopped speaking when I heard a quick rustling in the undergrowth just beyond the tree line. It moved from my left to right. This is when I realized that I could see deep into the forest. Everything was crystal clear now and at about 50 yards into the woods I saw dark gray bodies moving back and forth—navigating over and around the dense vegetation.

  They moved slower through the underbrush than what I remembered them doing in previous encounters. I tried to focus on the sound that seemingly disappeared near me, just beyond a tree.

  “It is not time for you to return quite yet, however, Sire, when I give you word, you must flee behind us. Until that time, you must draw your sword!” Yeor’s expression was
puzzling. Anxiety mixed with a commanding presence. What did he know that I didn’t?

  I saw a creature out of the corner of my eye. I snapped my head to the right and it vanished into the undergrowth at the base of a large tree. Dread welled up inside me as I looked down to see my journal in hand.

  “Yeor, I don’t have a sword!”

  “You’re a King of the Realm, use the power vested in you!” he shouted while squinting into the forest at the advancing enemy.

  I looked away from Yeor and my attention became fixated on the movement a few paces in front of me. I guessed that 20 or so creatures were spread out enough that their skirmish line would easily engulf us. The first three made it to the tree line and raised their black blades as they emerged from the undergrowth.

  “Dammit, Yeor!” I screamed—my anxiety had turned to anger, incensed that this sage continued to speak in riddles and not tell me plainly what he was talking about.

  At least give me a damn sword! was all I could think of.

  I threw my notebook down in utter rage. I’m not sure who I was mad at the most, Yeor or the first two creatures that ran toward me with their blades slashing at the air as they came at me. The moment my notebook hit the ground, it clanked and pinged loudly—to my amazement, it had turned into the very sword I had held before.

  I didn’t have time to gawk in bewilderment. The creatures that rushed me were just as astonished as I, having come to a complete stop to see the transformation from paper to steel.

  “Get on with it!” Yeor shouted as he defended and hacked at the third creature that come out of the undergrowth.

  I quickly bent down, grabbed the hilt, and the action caught the two off guard—I came straight up from the impromptu squat and my blade cut across the chests of both, spewing blackened blood from deep gashes—they let out a gurgled shriek as they both rocked backward into three more that came from behind.

  Their backward motion created a domino effect for the three immediately behind them; they stumbled over the slain and lost their footing. I took full advantage of their momentary confusion and rushed upon them, driving the tip of my blade deep into the guts of the foremost three, now tangled up with the first ones I just cut down.

  The other two regained their footing and charged around the creatures I just dispatched. My blade was slow coming out of the third creature’s stomach and I hopped back on one foot and kicked at the creature to my right. I ducked as one on my left swung at my head.

  My blade suddenly dislodged out of the belly of the third creature with a slingshot effect that threw me backward to the ground. Good thing too, both creatures in front had brought their swords down at the same time where I had stood, penetrating only the bare ground and kicking up dirt.

  Two more creatures cleared the tree line and were coming up behind the two I was already engaged with while on my back. I quickly glanced at Yeor, he swung his blade in a fluid motion that looked like a work of art.

  I rolled to my left and avoided yet another blade that planted into the dirt next to my head. While on my back I raised my sword and defended against another downward stroke, and I was able to slide sideways while parrying my sword back and forth in attempt to keep from getting sliced to pieces.

  There were too many on me now. The clicking sound they made the moment they cleared the tree line was deafening in my head. Dirt and sweat stung my eyes, and then, I felt the most excruciating pain in my left leg.

  I screamed and looked down: a black scimitar was stuck in my quad. I swung my sword around in an attempt to ward off the horde that descended on me like flies. I scooted backwards while jabbing and swinging in the air without hitting anything—the creatures were dancing from side-to-side, then back and forth, just out of reach of my blade.

  Then a sharp burning pain in my left arm came at the same time I heard the thud. I only had time for a quick glance: a scimitar was being pulled out of my left arm. I yelled and became dizzy. I heard a clang of steel and a swoosh; three gray orbs fell to the right of my head, and their headless bodies dropped to my left.

  The enemy seemingly forgot about Yeor; he had come up from behind the ten or so creatures that had engulfed me. His first stroke created a large gap before me and cleared the few I didn’t know were behind me. The creatures behind fled to my right side and then charged again.

  “It is time…” Yeor shouted over his shoulder as he took on the advancing line from our right flank.

  I didn’t respond. I managed to get up on my right knee. I wobbled and caught myself with my sword’s point embedded in the ground. A dark shape in the corner of my eye caused me to wheel around and pivot on my knee; I brought my sword up in time to catch the foul thing in the throat. The action spun me around and I landed on my stomach.

  “No!” Yeor boomed.

  I heard a sound that reminded me of stepping on a large bug, then a gust of wind, and then dirt hit my face as the next dead creature fell in front of me.

  “You must go,” Yeor pleaded after lifting me up by my right shoulder.

  Groggy, I glanced at the depression where we first arrived to see it full of dead creatures. From the tree line to where I stood, there was a trail of corpses. I didn’t see any others in the forest beyond, but then again, my vision had blurred again.

  “Matthew,” Yeor dragged me to the forest’s edge behind us. “You must leave now. I will call upon the Ancient for intervention…”

  The forest began to melt, pulsate, and undulate in one continuous, viscous motion as if everything was melding together. I felt like throwing up. Yeor muttered something I didn’t understand. I felt a warm metallic taste quickly rise in my throat, which made me vomit.

  My head bobbed down, and I saw my left leg—a steady fountain of bright red blood poured from the wound. Panic rose from deep inside me, and I grasped at Yeor’s gray tunic, now stained with black and red from the creatures he slew, and my own blood.

  “Yeor, I can’t do this…” I gurgled and wheezed.

  “Hush,” said Yeor. “No one can do this. But…we do, and we keep doing until there is no more breath.”

  I smiled. It gave me hope. A simple statement, such an impact, that perhaps I would make it. I had no idea where he was taking me now. He uttered something else. Something to an Ancient, or about an Ancient; I have no idea what he was saying.

  Involuntarily, I closed my eyes, and then passed out.

  Grateful for the darkness.

  26

  OF ALIE: ROOM 412

  “Yeor…” I pushed my bangs aside, “Yeor?” I waved my hands in front of his face several times, absolutely no response…not even a blink.

  I really started to freak out now. I was already an emotional basket case. The man I was falling in love with lay behind me in a coma; something I think I could’ve prevented. And now, someone who I thought was only in my dreams, sat on a chair and stared right through me.

  “My Lady,” the nurse said; I spun around so fast that my hair, my damn hair, whipped around into my eyes. I teared up again. “…all is well with Yeor.”

  Her smile brought a warmth I couldn’t explain, but it left as fast as I looked down at Matt laying between us. Her eyes gave it away, but I didn’t realize it at first. Worry and dread took over the feelings of self-pity as I gazed back at this woman.

  “Who are you?” my voice cracked. I couldn’t help it, everything inside was trembling now. Just like I trembled seeing that huge damn creature running through the trees in my dream a few hours ago.

  “I am…” as she began her explanation, I felt a surge of energy flash through me. “One who is called upon to intervene.” Her smile glistened, but not from the light on the wall above Matt’s bed, it was like it came from somewhere inside her.

  I didn’t answer her, although I had so many questions. It was like my brain was turning on and off like I used to mess with my sister’s bedroom lights growing up. I couldn’t focus. All I wanted to do was cry, and I swore that if this man dies I don’t think I cou
ld go on.

  “Child, you are in need of rest,” she told me as she handed me tissues.

  I was such a mess. My world became fuzzy again as I went into another crying fit. My crying turned to flat-out bawling as I remembered Matt’s words before he walked out of dispatch: “… our conversations help my mind. Your hugs are intoxicating, and being around you is like a breath of fresh air.” I wish I would’ve told him then that I loved him. I wish I would’ve just risked it and kissed him. I wish I wouldn’t have hesitated when Jake screamed over the radio.

  “This is not your doing, my Lady,” she calmly assured.

  Maybe she’s right, I need rest. My head hurt.

  “My Lady,” she gently insisted; my head, neck and shoulders quivered as I looked up through the tears that continued to stream. Trying desperately to get a hold of myself. “Aletha, my dear, this is not your doing.”

  “But, if I woul—”

  “Love, you have already saved this unique man,” her smile widened as she spoke, “he has opened doors with his journal that he does not yet understand. You see? You have saved him.”

  I really wanted to believe this nurse, who seemed to know more about me than she should. I couldn’t speak, and was in the middle of stifling my crying. And my damn hair, always in the way, now with little wet balls of tissue mushed in the ends. What a mess.

  “Aletha,” she began again, and when I looked up, I heard her voice, but she didn’t move her lips. “Return home and rest. All is well here. No one can enter or leave unless suffered to do so.”

  At that same moment I saw a nurse walk past the large windows to the doorway of the room. She held a small stack of file folders in her hands and stopped at the threshold of the door. She stood in the hall staring at the folders in her hands. She looked straight at me, but didn’t acknowledge me. Rude. The nurse spun around and walked back to the nurses’ station.