A Weaver's Dream - 1. Prologue

Steven stared at the computer screen in frustration. A multitude of windows were open on the screen with connections to what must have been half the organization’s computing infrastructure. Anyone walking past would have seen the confusing screen with its diminutive fonts and wonder just how Steven managed to make it all seem so easy let alone read it without a magnifying glass. Emails piled up while he worked to correct the latest server glitch his illustrious teammates had given up on. Steven stretched his arms above his head and took a deep breath trying to unwind for a second or two. God, couldn’t I be doing something more exciting than perennially cleaning up other people’s problems?

Steven flinched as a rubber band narrowly missed his face on its final approach to his lukewarm coffee. Fighting the urge to return fire, he decided on uttering a few lesser expletives under his breath only to find them escalate as he discovered the splattered coffee on his shirt sleeve. What would they think if I actually joined in their little games anyway?

“Shit, did I hit something important over there?” came the innocently posed question from Steven’s teammate in the next cube over. Aaron struggled to hide a twinge of amusement in the question knowing just how easy it was to frustrate Steven and his straight-laced office demeanor.

“No. Thanks for asking. You need to work on your aim. Finish that documentation already?” replied Steven.

Heh, same old Steven, Aaron thought. Would it kill him to lighten up a bit? I’ve seen that glimmer of mischief in his eyes, but it’s always work, work, work. “Finished it hours ago, Steve.”

Steven mused over Aaron’s actions. Just trying to get me to lighten up I bet. How could I ever explain that my detachment from others—hell, life in general—is the only way I know how to cope with these convoluted thoughts and desires? I bet Aaron would squirm a bit if I ever let on that I didn’t just like him but that I really liked him. Hell, I would squirm if I ever managed to honestly embrace that fact. It would shatter everyone’s perception of me—God knows I’ll never do it.

Steven’s pensive trance was disturbed by a paper clip banked off the light fixture above and glancing off his computer’s monitor. Here we go again...

Steven’s cell phone trilled wresting his attention away from his evening’s diversions. It was most likely work again—never a moment’s rest. A familiar curse passed his lips as he saw the bright, glaring screen innocently utter three little letters—M-O-M. Fuck! What did I do to deserve a call from home? “Hello.”

“Steven! It’s Mom. How are you, dear?”

“Fine, Mom. And you?”

“Just fine. I wanted to speak to you about when you’d be coming home next. I found someone I’d love you to meet.”

Steven rolled his eyes—another girl to meet. “Oh, that’s great Mom, but I’m really busy with work—it’ll probably be early next month before I get up that way.”

“Oh, well, give me a call before you come up—I’ll make sure your father is around for the weekend.”

“Ok, I’ll give you a call. Anything else happening?”

“Nothing really, dear. We miss you. Doc Jones from church still asks about you.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Say hi for me. Actually I should get going—work comes early.”

“It does—it wouldn’t do to be late. Good night, dear.”

“Good night, Mom.”

Ugh! Calls from home were the last thing that Steven looked forward to when trying to relax after getting home from work. All they did was bring up bad memories and conjure up fears of worse memories to be made in the future. Steven wrestled with thoughts of his parents and his resentment for how they still tried to control his life. An undeniable yawn finally interrupted him signaling his need for sleep. Now if only I can get a restful night’s sleep—it feels like I’ve been a zombie all week long.

Jumbled images and feelings flitted about Steven’s mind. As much as he tried to focus on any one thought, all he sifted out was a blurred sequence of events that made little sense: a glimpse of a shiny, indiscernible object, a draft tickling the hairs on his arm, an oppressive, musty reek. Awaking with a start, he desperately tried to hold onto his dream without success. Damn it! Why can’t I sleep through the night?

Opening his eyes, Steven realized that everything was very much out of sorts. All he could make out were dark, sweating walls of stone, and the air was imposing in its mustiness. A hint of bitter smoke assaulted his nose as it rode the fleeting draft that occasionally stirred the room. As he tried to sit up, he realized he wasn’t able to move. He began to struggle against whatever was keeping him immobile as the frigidness of fresh-brewed panic coursed through his veins.

A sinister voice rose from the dark shapelessness of the room and broke the silence, “So ignorant, so naive. You shall open the gateway before you ever become aware of your own nature. But none of that matters quite yet, first you will suffer here a bit while I prepare your true love for his role in this sacrifice.”

Steven shuddered at the mention of sacrifice, but he was confused and just a bit terrified to hear of a true love—a man none-the-less! How could someone have learned of that secret so long hidden? And when exactly did I find time to meet a true love?

His contemplation ended as he felt a crushing pain begin in the back of his head before it settled right behind his eyes. Holding back tears he struggled to see whatever figure gave breath to the voice currently haunting his thoughts. Why am I a prisoner here, and what exactly do I have to do with any of this? All coherent thought came to an end as the pain in his head increased, and everything became black and silent.

A new sequence of images flew before Steven’s mind’s eye. This time he struggled to make out a wizened old man with a flowing beard. The images congealed, and he could hear the man begin to speak, “Steven, I’m certain none of this makes sense, but rest assured none of what you’re about to see has to happen. You’ve yet to awaken into your true self, and we haven’t nearly the time to cover all that you need to know, but when the time comes, place your faith in the ring... It can do more for you than I can at the moment.”

Steven tried to speak but found he had no voice, but the questions still raced through his mind.Who are you? How do you know my name? What ring? Why is this happening to me?

Surprising Steven with the ability to read his thoughts, the old man smiled and replied, “Sorry Steven, time is short. I’ve already endangered both of us by contacting you. Just remember the ring, and I’ll find you again soon enough, Weaver.”

Weaver? What do you mean? But before the thought had finished taking shape in his mind, the image of the man disappeared, and the crushing pain returned, consuming Steven’s focus.

What seemed an eternity of restless nightmares later, the sinister voice returned startling Steven from a fitful sleep consumed with pain. “Now we shall proceed with opening the gateway. You will follow me,” came the eerie, disembodied voice.

Steven felt his body levitate—a unique sensation of seemingly thousands of pin pricks, and he began to move across the room. A door was thrown open casting a cold, drab light into the dank room as Steven’s body floated to the opening. Seeing the room properly for the first time, Steven quickly determined it was most certainly a cell as he discovered the remains of some unfortunate past tenant. The walls were graced with rusted chains, and the damp, black stone was adorned with faint scratches he could only presume came courtesy of the prior guest—or whatever foul beast delivered him unto some better place. Upon entering the hallway Steven involuntarily shivered though he wasn’t certain it was from the cold until he noticed the faint mist escaping his lips. A second shiver, this time most certainly not from the cold, wracked his body. He sensed the malevolent force that propelled him down the hall closing in with a suffocating grip seeking to strangle his will.

As if looking through a frosted window he remembered the old man’s face and words clouded by the haze of the subsequent nightmares—“place your faith in the ring.” Steven looked to his hand and to his surprise found a ring—a subtly ornate ring possessing a peculiar allure.

Once captured by its gleam, Steven found he wasn’t able to divert his gaze from the ring. It glowed faintly as though conscious that it had captured his attention, and Steven felt a foreign presence tickle the back of his mind. As his bond with the ring grew, the crushing weight previously occupying Steven’s mind eased, and suddenly he felt a unique sensation as his perspective shifted. Instead of being confined to his immobilized body, he found he was able to direct his senses about the hallway. As he watched his body glide down the hall, he looked around from his new vantage point. Dark drapes graced the walls occasionally disrupted by a dim, noxious candle. Steven shuddered to imagine what went into those candles to yield the sickening odor. The sickly green flames only reinforced the loathsome qualities of the dreadful smell.

Steven directed his out-of-body senses to catch up with his bound form as it was swallowed by darkness at the end of the hallway. His vision adjusted to the dim lighting of a vast chamber, and he watched his body accelerate towards a sort of dais in the center of the expanse. An archway of grey stone stood on one side of the platform, and as Steven strained to see through it, he found a black, swirling pool where his view of the far wall should have been.

As he neared the dais, a far more alarming sight caught his attention. A young man, seemingly lifeless, lay upon a low slab of stone with marks of torture and struggle upon his limbs and torso. Steven was briefly captivated by the face—a regal vestige still gracing it in spite of the torture endured by its master. His attention was drawn to another comparable raised stone where his own body came to rest silently. Any warmth Steven still possessed retreated to his very core as the stone’s biting cold clawed at his back. Silence reigned as Steven struggled to even hear the sound of his own breathing. The noxious reek of the candles in the hallway seemed quite pleasant compared to the scent of torture from his fellow captive. Seeing the condition of the young man, Steven only assumed the worst was yet to come.

After another impatient eternity, the same vile voice from earlier broke the silence and sneered, “Now Weaver, you shall witness the death of your love, and my conquest shall be complete. I pray you find some escape from this torture as your life ends—even I have found some shred of compassion knowing the power I am about to unleash through your very being.”

Weaver? What the hell is a Weaver? Steven couldn’t help but wonder again. While his one-sided conversation with the old man had suggested some positive connotation, the stigma attached to it by this vile voice chilled Steven to the bone. As he continued his struggle to make sense of the situation, an ominous chanting began in the background. Words within words were uttered, but none of them were discernible by Steven’s untrained ear. As the chanting continued, Steven’s heart sank as he realized it must be an incantation, and one none too pleasant if the palpable feeling of hatred in the air was any clue. What I wouldn’t give to be back in my mundane cube typing another status report, Steven thought.

With a start, Steven’s eyes were involuntarily drawn to the young man as lesions opened upon his body. The regal face was twisted in agony as his eyes flew open in pain-induced madness. The incantation was briefly overshadowed by guttural screams of agony. The chanting increased in volume and pace as the young man was subjected to the pain of rent flesh. Blood flowed freely from his eyes and ears as Steven could only wish the horrific torture would end for this helpless soul.

As the torture continued, Steven noticed a ring upon the young man’s finger. It bore a striking resemblance to his own. He concentrated upon this ring seeking some way to end the agony of this innocent man. As he focused more intensely on the other man’s ring, a peculiar heat arose in the ring he bore. Steven could only assume this ring was the matching half of some strange pair. Distracted briefly by the power that emanated from the ring, he renewed his search for some way to assist the tortured man and relieve his suffering. Steven soon suffered the reward for his wish as his own body was ravaged with pain and agony. Why oh why did I wish to take his pain from him?

Steven watched in horror as the same wounds inflicted upon the young man afflicted his own body. What small reward that did come from this self-imposed agony was a moment of lucidity in the young man. In that brief moment their eyes locked, and a new stream of thoughts and feelings rushed through Steven’s consciousness. Feelings of love and devotion and thoughts of family and commitment filled Steven’s mind while the agony only multiplied. Steven felt a new pain from his hand as both rings began to glow with a fiery heat.

The chanting abruptly changed pitch. A sulfurous reek filled the chamber as cold, deathly green flames sprung forth from the floor around the dais. Steven watched in defeat as whatever aid he had given the young man was erased as his wounds reopened and the last vestiges of light in his captivating eyes were extinguished.

Steven felt an inexplicable loss. A long wail echoed throughout his mind as the newly acquired thoughts and feelings for the young man screamed out in anguish. The feelings sought to claw their way out of his mind and lash out at the evil that seemed to gloat throughout the chamber. The chanting became faster and gained a feverish pitch. A suffocating green mist filled Steven’s failing vision as a noxious smoke from the surrounding flames displaced any air still fit for breathing within the chamber. Steven felt the icy dread of death flood his consciousness as the amorphous evil in the chamber took form. The noxious green mist belied the evil’s form as it shifted and swirled about. Without warning a pair of talons, seemingly composed of shadow, parted from the mist and closed around Steven’s heart. Whether the talons were those of the embodied evil or those of Death herself, Steven lacked the will to decide. As the incantation proceeded with a new, frenetic discord, the pain only grew stronger and stronger, and Steven prepared to welcome whatever release would come.

Without warning a new ache arose that seared him to the bone yet felt strangely pure and reassuring. He recognized the influence of the ring as it employed a painful burning to wrench his attention from the torture he endured. As he felt his skin begin to crack and char with the unholy stench of burnt flesh and death, the torture became too much. He fought with every ounce of strength to retain his grasp on life, but he felt himself slipping as he perceived a great abyss open beneath him. As the hand of Death gladly latched onto his soul, he finally succumbed to the comfort of black nothingness.

Steven awoke with a start as he recognized the obnoxious whine of the alarm clock. Why oh why do I get up this early? Time to get up and get to it you sorry lout!

“What’s the point of exercise when you couldn’t bring yourself to get out and find someone if you wanted to?” Steven’s inner voice chided. Steven contemplated rolling over and enjoying a few more minutes of blissful slumber rather than suffer the back and forth struggle involved in his preparations for the day.

Eventually Steven’s quiet ambition won out, and he forced himself to awaken fully. Why do I feel as though I’ve not slept in weeks? These dreams must stop! He struggled to remember some images of the latest dream, but they slipped through his grasp. That is until he opened his eyes to see why one of his fingers hurt so badly.

As he reached out to touch the fiery red skin, Steven tried to recall how he’d managed to burn himself. I wasn’t drinking last night—as much as I might have wanted to after that call from Mom. How did this happen? As his finger tips touched the burn, an unexpected pain and agony rushed through Steven’s mind. The dreams’ secrets were unlocked, and the past night’s memories flooded his consciousness. His limbs began to quiver uncontrollably and a cold sweat trickled down his brow. Steven’s blue eyes became dull and grey and rolled back into his head before he collapsed onto his bed.