Crow - The Awakening (8 page)

"Bummer! I was hoping to race you," Steven said, catching himself from talking too loudly. "Oh yeah, here." Steven put a couple of jars of honey on the table. "Give these to your parents."

"Brown-noser," Brandon laughed. "Thanks, dude."

"Are you going to be back next weekend?" Steven put the honey in a canvas bag.

"Probably later next week. I have classes starting soon," Brandon said, frowning. He enjoyed the summer break and school always seemed to put a damper on the fun.

"Shuh. I have classes all year long. Be glad you get a break," Steven said. But he couldn't imagine not having any classes at all for a couple of months. The upside was that he was years ahead of his normal age group.

He thought about telling him about the meadow, but decided not to at the moment. Steven had to be sure first. Plus he really didn't talk much about his nightmares to anyone. How would people take it? Would they think he was going crazy? He wondered himself sometimes. The same kind of dream repeatedly over the years does hint at some sort of latent lunacy of one form or the other. His godparents had him talk to his therapist about them before, too. No, he decided he'd keep the meadow to himself. At least for now.

"Oh, they're here." Brandon grabbed the bag of honey. "Gotta bolt, dude."

A luxury sedan pulled up to the market and Steven waved to Brandon's parents, who waved back. "See you later, Brandon," Steven said to his friend as he rushed off to his ride. He wouldn't see him much when he gets back, thanks to school. But Steven figured he'd be busy too. He did just get a stack of new textbooks the day before, after all.

The clearing was just ahead, beyond a thicket of underbrush. Steven stood there, reluctant to continue any farther. He looked up and back at his tree house, wondering if perhaps he should go up there first. Maybe his software found something. A clue to his parents' whereabouts could be waiting up there right now. He shook his head, knowing that was very unlikely. And that would just be delaying the inevitable. He had to face the meadow. Glancing around, he found nothing else that demanded his attention. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the underbrush and, with just a couple of steps, he quite abruptly stood in the clearing. It appeared just as it did in his dreams. The similarity was remarkable. The meadow grass was showing the signs of a full season and getting ready to pack it in for the winter. The years of grass underneath formed a slightly springy carpet below the grass. Various flowering plants were scattered across the clearing.

Looking ahead, he spied the snag. It was as tall as any of the pine trees in the forest behind him, but completely dead. It was actually gray, but so sun bleached as to be almost white. For all intents and purposes it appeared to be a ghost, very much out of place in the center of the meadow. Steven pulled his sketchbook out of his backpack and compared the drawing to the tree. It was slightly off from the drawing because of where he was standing related to the snag. He walked around the perimeter of the clearing until it was spot on. He held up the drawing in front of him, looked at it, then at the actual tree. The drawing could easily have been a photograph, as accurate as it was. He found that to be more than a little creepy. He looked back at the forest, remembering the spot where the wolfman would jump out of the underbrush. It was a little hard to make out in the dreams because they were at night, but the basic topography was close enough. He walked into the meadow a bit and stopped where he remembered the vampire trying to get him and looked around. The forest that bordered the meadow was exactly as he dreamed it.

He looked around the rest of the meadow nervously. No monsters were jumping out of the forest. It was, after all, early afternoon. Steven approached the snag and reached out, but hesitated for a moment before actually touching the tree. It was quite solid, very much a real tree. But without a hint of life. The wood was dry and split in several places along the grain. He looked up toward the top and imagined it as it would have looked alive. For some reason, what he saw in his imagination wasn't quite like the pine trees of the forest, but more tropical looking. "Weird," he said under his breath as he shook his head to clear the imagined look of the tree out of his head. He walked around the tree with his hand on it, feeling the wood. The bark had long since weathered off, leaving the core of the tree exposed to the sunlight. It was smooth and lifeless, and still cool from the chill of the night before. He almost felt sorry for it, like a long lost friend. He felt a distinct connection to all the living things of the forest and sensed only the shadow of possibilities in what this tree had been.

Standing back, he looked up again. Most of the branches it had in life were gone, but there were still many jutting out of the trunk. As he did in the wintertime when all was dreary and dead, he tried to imagine the tree alive again, with bark on it and a full, living canopy. Birds would flitter amongst the branches, and squirrels would traverse up and down the trunk. Steven smiled. Much better, and far less intimidating. Still, it was different. Not quite like the conifers that grew in the forest around him. The difference was a little disconcerting. He wondered why he was having trouble seeing the tree as one of the many that surrounded the meadow.

He looked around the meadow, decidedly sad-looking this late in the season. The grass was turning splotchy brown and many of the annual flowering plants were showing their age with tired leaves and fewer flowers. A fresh flush of spring growth complete with flowers and butterflies would fix that. Steven imagined a vibrant living meadow. His head hurt a little and he rubbed the back of his neck but still continued to visualize what the meadow would look like at the prime of the growing season and superimposed that over what he was looking at now. Suddenly, the scary meadow of his dark dreams melted away into a beautiful clearing full of life and vitality.

Oddly, the meadow also looked off. Steven didn't recognize any of the plants any more than he recognized the living tree. Even the butterflies looked different. Maybe he really was losing his mind. He looked up and noticed that the sun looked different and there was a second moon in the sky. "Wow. I have to draw this." Steven sat down and turned his sketchpad to a blank page and started drawing what his imagination had created in place of the tree and meadow around him.

Steven held the sketch away from him, examining it. It was missing something. It needed a human ingredient. Perhaps a little girl dancing amongst the aromatic flowers. He sketched her with care for detail. She had short, wild hair. A puff of hair on her crown stood straight up like a flower, and hair that draped down to her shoulders and across her eyebrows framed a very pretty face. It was brown and thick with blond highlights and had leaves and perhaps even a twig in it from the trees she surely climbed in. Large, beautiful green or perhaps blue eyes and pointed ears are a must as well as a small, smiling mouth and petite nose. She was also thin and would roughly be his age, of course. Her clothing looked very well suited for forest life - just enough to cover what needed covering but no frilly stuff to get caught up in the underbrush. He thought of drawing in a bow and arrow as was commonly drawn on Elves he'd seen illustrated in library books, but he just couldn't seem to make it fit in his vision. He focused hard on his drawing, giving it exquisite detail. The Elf's skin would be very slightly fuzzy, almost like a very fine short fur. He wasn't sure why, but it just seemed natural for her. It still didn't look quite right to him. He worked on the fur a bit, drawing in very faint patterns in the fur that resembled bark. Steven began to think that he had completely lost the common Elf motif, but what he was drawing seemed right so he kept on sketching his vision out. Steven looked at what he was drawing to see what else needed to be illustrated. The ears weren't exactly pointed but had tufts of fur that made it look that way. He grunted, irritated that a daydream was dictating itself to him, but he kept drawing anyway.

"There," he said, satisfied. He looked at the sketch and brushed away eraser dust. Looking up, he saw her in his improved meadow. She was standing in front of him staring with a shocked look on her face. "Yeah, that's about right," he said to himself as he looked back at his drawing. "Now, what should I call you?"

The girl squinted her eyes at him, cocking her head to the right. She walked around him and looked over his shoulder at the drawing, then said something in a strange but alluringly beautiful language.

"What did you say?" Steven looked over his shoulder at her.

She looked surprised, then asked again in his language, with a quirky, almost Celtic accent. "Is that me?" She looked curiously at the drawing again, playing with the leaves in her hair.

"Well, duh." My imaginary friend asking stupid questions, that figures, Steven thought to himself. He reclined, looking at her. "I think I'll call you Fran."

"Asherah Tor’eng Kinitene Solory Fahele Syagria," she countered. She bent over and peered deep into his eyes, as if looking for more than was there.

Steven couldn't help but notice the fur now. It was so lifelike. Steven looked at her for a moment, thinking. Asherah did fit better than Fran. "Okay, I'll call you Asherah."

"What should I call you?" She knelt down in front of him, staring hard at his face.

"Hmmm, Steven? Or, perhaps, Your Majesty? After all, I am the king of all in my imagination." Steven grinned, waving his pencil at the meadow around him.

The girl giggled. "I think Steven will do." She looked mischievous. "Or perhaps Fran would fit better?"

Steven rolled his eyes, amused at the thought. He laid back and savored his little meadow. No monsters, rich life in place of waning grass, a lush tree in place of an old snag, and someone to talk to. He used to imagine animal friends when he was younger, until real animals showed up and took their place. Now he had another friend and a little oasis, a far better imagination to him. She sat down beside him and he rested on his elbow to look at her closer then turned the page in his sketchbook and started drawing her again. She smiled, delighted she was being drawn again. She made a funny face and crossed her eyes.

"I'm not going to draw that!" Steven giggled. He doodled her face in a corner of the page nonetheless and she laughed at it covering her mouth as she admired his doodle. The last remnants of his anxiety melted away at her infectious laugh and he laughed too. The giggles continued as he continued drawing and she made more funny faces for him. The nightmare was just that, a dream. Steven decided that this would be his new favorite place. He looked over at the edge of the forest and up at his tree house. It was easy for him to pick it out of the cluster of trees, but still very well hidden from those not knowing what they are looking for.

"Here, let me try." Asherah reached for the sketchbook. Steven let her take it and she peered hard at him again and started sketching, singing a song to herself in a language he had never heard before. It was a lovely song but he couldn't fathom what she was saying. He tried to sit still, while at the same time trying to crane his neck to see what she was drawing.

"Not yet, silly. I'm not done," she chided him as she drew quickly. Steven rolled his eyes but remained as still as he could be. She giggled a little as she drew, and Steven fidgeted.

"Sit still," she said, glancing at him as she worked.

"You're not done yet?" Steven asked, impatient. She seemed to be taking forever to draw him.

"How long did it take you to draw me?" Asherah asked as she kept drawing.

"A while, I guess." He hadn't really timed himself. She grinned as she drew.

"It looks like you took a while," she said as she concentrated, looking up at Steven frequently and intently as she drew his features. "Okay, just a little more." Asherah flipped the page and started another drawing.

"What are you doing?" Steven looked at her, wondering if she was going to fill up his sketchpad before he had a chance to draw any more.

"Well, I want a drawing too, Steven." She looked up at Steven and squinted and returned to her work.

"Why?" Steven couldn't imagine what she would want with a drawing.

"Because I want a drawing of my new friend, too." Her hands moved quickly and Steven could tell she was working as fast as he ever had, and she continued singing and humming as she drew.

"New friend, huh?" Steven blushed. She was a lot more comfortable around him after just meeting him than he would have imagined.

Asherah chortled, amused, and reached for the colored pencils to capture his blush. "Well, I think you're cute, and funny, and a very good artist. You draw me very well, so you must like me. So we're friends." She waggled a pencil at him and was very matter of fact as she continued to work. Steven couldn't argue with that logic.

"Hmph. Fair enough. You almost done... friend?" Steven wiggled, not comfortable sitting in the same position for so long.

"Mmm." Asherah held the drawing away from her, eyeballing it and Steven. "Yeah. I think I'm done." She deftly ripped that drawing out of the sketch pad and handed the pad back to Steven.

He took the pad, looking warily at her as she grinned, then turned the page back to what she had drawn. He was absolutely shocked at what he saw. Not just a drawing of him, but her as well, right next to him. And a woman who looked just like her behind them. And a man on the other side behind them. "Wow." He looked closely at the drawing. It was hard to discern the pencil strokes. "This is almost like a picture."

Asherah giggled, looking away.

"No, really. This is really good." Steven looked at her and back at the drawing. She had captured details that he had missed. "Who are they?" He pointed at the man and woman she drew. They both looked like her. She captured their fur with its faint, bark-like pattern, their wild hair and the tufts on the tips of their ears.

"My mother. Her name is Penipe. And that's my father, Tor'eng." She scooted over next to him and pointed.

Steven shook his head, amazed. "You must draw a lot."