Of Royal Descent (6 page)

I had no path beneath my feet and the moonlight was waning behind cloud cove
r, but still, I continued.  Another sound filled the night air - a moan, closer this time.  My senses prickled, and the resulting gooseflesh left my skin more sensitive to the chilling wind.  I walked faster.

Before long, I broke free of the line of trees and entered a small clearing.  The pale glow of the moon illuminated a small cottage standing in the middle of the field, about 25 yards away from where I stood.  The cottage was as dark as the woodland that encircled it
, and yet I knew my spectral flute-player awaited me within.

Again, there was a nagging at my subconscious.  Something was wrong
; something was out of place.  What was it? 

I watched as my feet moved of
their own volition.  Slowly, one in front of the other, they carried me closer to the dwelling enshrouded in darkness, until I stood halfway between the door and the spot where I had, just moments before, emerged from the trees.

From th
e depths of the forest, a wail pierced the night, sending a nearby owl into flight beneath the starless sky.  The noise was brief but left a lasting impression on me, and I stood trembling with my heart in my throat.  I swallowed hard and willed my body to calm down. 

I looked behind me
- nothing but the same angry woodland I’d left behind.  I turned to face the cottage once more.  The moon abandoned the clutches of clouded veil long enough to reveal a human form inside the cottage window.  As quickly as it had appeared, the silhouette vanished.  I would've sooner believed I had imagined it altogether if the hair on the back of my neck wasn't standing on end. 

I remained rooted to where I stood.  The thought of fleeing my current location resurfaced only to bring with it the uncertainty of my predicament.  I mentally swatted at the cobwebs that were blocking my full grasp of the situation.  Something, some tidbit of information, began wheedling its way through my brain.

The door of the cottage creaked open until the passageway was unhindered.  The wind picked up, whistling through the trees like a morose lullaby.  I peered, squinting, into the blackened entrance to the small house.

What was it?  What couldn't I remember?  Something important, I
was sure.

"Doyle,"
came my name lightly on the wind, eerily distorted and drawn out.

I flinched as terror coursed through me.  I spun in all d
irections but could see no one.  There was no movement on the edge of the forest or inside the house, neither of human nor apparition.

"Doyle,"
came the voice again, hovering in the air around me.

"Who are you?!"  I screamed at the top of my voice.

I spun around a second time and still yielded no results.

The wind died down
, and once again, my heartbeat thumped in my ears.  I remained equally distanced from the line of trees and the cottage door. 

Something important.
  I was sure I was on the verge of remembering.

A soft scraping came from the depths of the cottage.  I wanted to run
; I tried to run but I could not.  The cottage was growing closer.  I looked down in horror to find my feet were walking toward the door.  The song of the siren coursed through my blood. 

Something I needed to know. 
What the hell was it?

Another a
nguished cry emanated from the west.  I struggled to turn my head to the left and though successful, saw nothing but the trees.

Again came the scraping from the cottage, slightly louder
than before, as if something was moving closer to the entrance.  I wanted to scream, but I could not find my voice.  I gauged the distance to the door.  I was about ten yards out and steadily closing the gap.

An image
flashed before my eyes too fast for me to process. 
Wait, wait, go back.
  What was it?  Something I should know.

I struggled against my own limbs
to no avail.  My legs continued to propel me forward.

There it was again
- the image.  Slowly, it came into view of my mind's eye.  Another dark night, like this one.  Something surrounding me, imprisoning me.  What was it?  Were those stalks of corn?

The scraping grew louder from within the pitch-
black of the dwelling in front of me, now a mere seven yards away.

The image was sharpening.  It was a cornfield.  I was scared.  Why? 
Oh yeah, that's why
.  The smell of rot was enclosing around me.  Gray arms parted the stalks.  And just like that, realization hit me full force.  I was dreaming.  Tears of relief cascaded down my cheeks.  My body instantly bowed to my command, and my feet ceased their torturous approach toward the ominous doorway.

I bent at the waist, doubled over with laughter.

"Doyle," called a haunting voice from the doorway.

I stood erect
but continued to laugh.  I just couldn't help myself.  It was a dream!  It was all in my head and I had nothing to fear, because I was in charge of it all. 

"Yeah, creepy voice in the dark?
  What do you want?"  I smiled into the abyss.

"I have a message from your mother,"
came the reply.

"Tell her to send an email," I answered, rolling my eyes.

Another sorrowful lament echoed into the night.

"No, Doyle.  Your real mother,"
came the lilting, unworldly voice.

I was now respectfully attentive.  Dream or not, I was curious. 

"What’s the message?" I asked, unconsciously taking another step toward the door.

"Come inside," the
disembodied voice responded.

I warily closed the remaining distance to the door.  I stood directly in front of the opening and stared into the blackness.  Even with the dim glow of the moon above me, I could not see anything past the threshold.

There's nothing to fear
, I told myself.  Just as Chuck had said, darkness alone never killed anyone.

I heard a quiet shuffling
, as if someone or something was close enough to touch me but remained hidden within the shadows of the house.  Okay, so there was definitely something in the darkness.  Presumably waiting for me.  Awesome.

I considered trying to wake myself up.  Maybe concentrating really hard or shouting loudly would have done the trick.  But the truth was, I'd never dreamt of my mother before.  I didn't care that it wasn't
real; I just wanted to see her.  And it wasn't as if anything could
really
hurt me, right?  I was just dreaming.

I heard the shuffling again and envisioned something being dragged across the floor.  I swallowed. 
Nothing to fear
, I repeated to myself, just before entering the cottage in one swift step.

6

Upon entering the cottage, I found myself submerged in the blackness.  No trace of the open door or the light beyond could be seen.  Instinctively, I extended my arm, searching for a light switch on where I assumed a wall would be.  My palm met with empty air. 

Despite
the darkness surrounding me, I shut my eyes tight. 
It’s just a dream.  Focus, make light. 
I exhaled slowly, thinking only of bright lights.  I opened my eyes.  Still dark. 

A sound stirred in front of me. 

Nothing to fear.  Nothing to fear.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said
with more bravado than I was feeling.  Astonishingly, my voice oozed with confidence.  "You said you had a message from my mother," I continued.

"And so I have," a soft female voice responded.

There was a striking of a match, and a pinpoint of light appeared several feet in front of where I stood.  A cloaked figure faced away from me, leaning over to light the kindling that was nestled in an old-fashioned hearth.  The spark caught, and the room slowly filled with warm, gentle light.  The figure stood, keeping her back to me.

"Why have you brought me here?" I demanded.

"I didn't.  You brought me here."

I snorted. 

"You're a clever boy, Doyle.  Surely you know it is your dream and not mine.  The setting and characters are, therefore, chosen by your subconscious." 

Hmm, the creepy, cloaked figure in the woods had a point.

She turned then, facing me.  Her gaze held mine as she lifted the hood of her cloak and let it fall down her back.  Her green eyes reflected the firelight and burned just as bright.  Her hair fell in long, auburn ringlets past her shoulders.  I placed her in her late twenties.

She inclined her head slightly to one side
, before turning away quickly and taking a seat in a rocking chair before the fire.

"Please, have a seat,
" she said, gesturing to the chair adjacent to hers. 

I remained where I stood, glancing around the room for the first time, attempting to get my bearings.  It was a small room, appearing to be made of wood and stone with a dirt floor beneath our feet.  It contained only the fireplace and the two chairs.  The door was behind my left shoulder and closed tight.  The windows I had noted before were now gone, with no evidence of their ever having been there at all.

"Don’t be afraid.  You’re safe here."  She smiled at me.  It appeared sincere.  When I was hesitant to respond, she looked down at her hands.

"Who are you?" I
asked.

She looked up at me,
her lower lashes brimming with tears.  "Do you not know me?"

I shook my head slightly in answer.

She turned to face the fire while her right hand began to twist the ring she wore on her left ring finger.  The flames danced and popped as she sat studying them.

"Doyle," she started, but paused.  She stopped spinning her ring and folded her hands in her lap.

"Doyle," she began again.  "I am your mother."  She stared at me expectantly, waiting for my reaction, only to find me expressionless and holding her gaze. 

She could have told me she was the
Wizard of Oz
and this was the Emerald City, and she would have received the same reaction from me.  I wasn't putting too much stock into anything a figment of my imagination told me, let alone a figment that lived in the middle of a certifiably haunted forest and used a plethora of parlor tricks in an attempt to make me soil myself on my way to meet her.

"Trust
me; I am not blind to the ambiguity of our present situation."  She smiled nervously, shaking her head.  "I am quite aware this is a dream, and as such, you will be slow to accept the truth of what I say."  She looked down at her hands.

I took a step toward her, causing her to meet my gaze.  "I don't suppose you have any way to prove such a claim."

She smiled up at me and extended her hand.  "Come sit beside me."

Her face exuded hopefulness as much as I'm sure mine exuded dubiousness, but I crossed the distance between us and sat down beside her.  Slowly, as if to prepare me for the touch, she reached out and took my hand.  I did not pull it free from her clasp.  She
rocked softly in her chair, and with her eyes closed and my hand in hers, she began to softly sing.

             
Down in the valley, love bloomed new

             
Down in the valley, where I met you

             
Larkspur dancing in the evening light

             
You smiled at me and ushered in the night

I kept my eyes fixed on the orange glow of the flames as tears filled my eyes.  I knew the ballad instantly.  She sang soft and low, and the haunting melancholy of her voice swept through me.  A vault to the past had been unlocked somewhere in my mind, and a rush of vivid memories came flooding back.  I sat very still and did not dare move my hand for fear she would stop singing.

              Down in the valley, when I was a maid

             
Down in the valley, beneath the shade

             
You promised your heart, your soul, and your life

             
The night you asked me to be your wife

I remembered looking up into her face when they placed me in her arms after I was born.  It was the very same face of the woman next to me in the rocking chair.  I saw it clearly.  The images were so real, so vibrant, and so full of emotion, that I consigned myself to the fact that this was, indeed, my mother. 

             
Down in the valley, Daddy gave me away

             
Down in the valley, that warm spring day

             
You promised forever but you told a lie

             
And now I forever will mourn and cry

Silent tears rolled down my face as the memories continued to assault me.  I singled out one memory at random and focused. 

S
he had been singing this very song one evening when there had been a knock at the door.  She had been crying, and I remembered a fat teardrop splashing against my chin as she cradled me closer in her arms. 

Another knock sounded, more urgent this time, and she reluctantly crossed the room to answer it.

My focus wavered, and another onslaught of whirlwind memories fought for my attention.  It was like watching a slideshow of baby highlights as my mind cycled through images of being fed, being changed, and looking up into a sea of different faces.

             
Up on the hillside, in the morning dew

             
Up on the hillside, is where I last saw you

             
There's a cross to mark where you're laid to rest

             
Six feet below in your Sunday best

She choked back a quiet sob, but she continued to sing while she rocked in her chair with her eyes closed.  Her hand grasped mine tightly, and through her tears, she sang the last verse.

             
Down in the valley, love bloomed new

             
Down in the valley, where I met you

             
Larkspur dancing in the evening light

             
You smiled at me and ushered in the night

The last line tumbled from her lips as the rocking chair stilled, and she opened her eyes to find mine.  Her tears fell freely now, and her face twisted in sorrow when she saw that I was also crying. 

"I'm so sorry
, Doyle.  I'm sorry the short time we spent together was so full of grief."  She reached out to touch my cheek and wiped a tear away with the pad of her thumb.

"How are you here?  How can I dream of you so clearly?" I whispered in a shaky voice.

A wistful smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.  "Your senses are sharpening.  Didn't your father explain any of this?"

At my look of complete and utter confusion, she furrowed her brow.

"My father?"

There was a pause while she seemed to formulate a line of questioning.

"Doyle, aren't you with your father now?"  Her confusion laced each word. 

Oh, how I hated to tell her.  Dream or not, you never want to
have to tell your mother that your father is dead. 

"Mom, Dad is...
not with me
.  He died a long time ago."

Her expression never changed.

"Yes, dear, I know that."  She stared at me as if expecting the next sentence to fall from my mouth to make perfect sense of the matter.  I'm sure I looked more bewildered than ever.

"Mom,
isn't Dad with you?"

She was taken aback.  "Me?  No, he's not with me.  Why would you think that?"

"Well, you know, because you were together... in the car accident."

"Car accident?
  What car accident?" 

For a beat
, we both just stared at one another, neither of us knowing how next to proceed. 

I was the first to break the silence.  "I don't know how to tell you this, but, you're dead."

With a smile and an amused, yet somewhat exasperated tone, she answered, "Oh for goodness sakes, Doyle."  She shook her head and a soft, sad laugh bubbled from her lips.  "Trust me, son, I'm aware."  She let go of my hand to run both of hers through her hair and looked down at the floor.

"Days go by as years and years go by as days here.  And I've spent them all wondering and dreaming of the time when we would meet.  And with all the time I've had to prepare for our meeting, you might think I would have
had something prepared to say."  She looked up at me again, tears threatening to spill over and down her cheeks.

"And yet, here I sit, in front of my now-grown son
, and all I am able to say is “
What car accident?”
’  Of course I knew they would’ve given you a reason.  No one was going to tell you the truth.  But it doesn't even matter in this moment, because you are here with me only for a short time, and I don't want to waste a second of it talking about things that cannot be changed.  What I want to tell you," and with these words, her tears did begin to fall again, leaving glistening trails behind them that shimmered in the firelight.

"All I really want to say is how much I love you and how sorry I am that I couldn't be there for you."  Her voice wobbled and began to jerk as her tears picked up speed and volume.  "I'm sorry I was so preoccupied with your father's death in the time we had together.  If I had known
how short it was going to be, I wouldn't have wasted one minute of it that was not focused on you and you alone."

I blinked to clear my own tears that had formed and tried to make sense of what she was saying.  I had so many questions.  There were too many trails of confusion to wander down.  But how much of it was accurate?  How much of it was nonsensical dream babble?

"I don't know if this real, but it feels real.  And if there's even the slightest chance that I am really here and talking to you, I just want you to know that you don't have to be sorry for anything."  My emotions threatened to choke me into silence, but I pressed on, not wanting to waste a second of what was possibly the only time I would ever dream of my mother.

"So, please, don't be upset with yourself for anything.  I have a good life, I really d
o.  My adoptive parents are very nice and they're good to me," I said as earnestly as possible.  However, instead of seeing my mother smile as I had hoped, her forehead creased with concern.

"
I don't understand how you are here with me without having learned anything of the past," she said.

"Mom, I don't understand what you're talking about.  I mean, I don't really understand anything at all.  A
lot of crazy stuff has been happening the last couple of days - stuff I can't explain, and it's really starting to freak me out."

A look
of realization crossed over her face. 

"Doyle," she said, holding up her hands and placing them on either side of my face.  "Listen to me.  Y
ou could wake up at any moment.  As wonderful as seeing you is, you have to go while you still have a chance for something greater.  Wherever you are when you wake up, RUN.  Go home as fast as you possibly can.  All of this will end.  All the crazy stuff that's been scaring you will stop."  She lowered her hands and placed them around me in a hug.

I instinctively hugged her back
, and in doing so, was once again swept up by how real it all felt.  Her breath was warm against my neck, and she held me tight.  The smell of her hair triggered another rush of long-forgotten memories to the forefront of my mind.  I pulled away just enough to see her face.