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“Why are there no birds?” I ask.
“You want birds?” the Druid asks.
“What does what I want have to do with it?” I counter, pushing myself up to a sitting position. “It’s an observation. I swear you and Dugald make an art out of answering a question with a question.”
“Because you—”
“Don’t ask the right question,” I finish for him, rolling my eyes. “You are impossible. I got it.”
He nods and smacks his lips as he shuffles around in a circle, doing God knows what. I stand and sigh as my body throbs. Every bruise must be bone-deep now as I keep adding new ones on top of the unhealed ones. I stare at the stick and resentment wells in my chest. I want to tear it out of the ground and beat it against a tree until it’s nothing but splinters.
Instead of acting on that childish impulse I sigh, hang my head for a moment, then climb back on. The Druid harumphs in a tone that I take as satisfaction. I get into my position, though I still feel wobbly, and close my eyes.
The emptiness comes and with it is peace. Having broken the glamour around Dad my life has gotten easier. My grades are still a problem but manageable. The constant stress and despair I felt has eased if not gone away completely.
There are still so many questions I have and those questions, I realize, are what’s keeping me from being able to think of nothing. What is there between Dugald and me? Have I really lived before? If so, why don’t I remember it? And the most burning question of all. Duncan.
My heart speeds up and my balance shifts the moment I think of him, and I wobble. I try to push the thought aside and empty my head. I’m almost there, then I get it. My thoughts are blank. Emptiness. I’m here, in this moment, and thinking of nothing.
My breath in is deep and rich, then I let it out in a slow exhale. Repeating it. Focusing on that motion of air in and out. The flow of it is beautiful. Simple. In. Out. In. Out. Peace flows in, peace flows out. I am calmness and I exude it into the world.
Eyes closed and seeing only blackness then, in the distance of my own headspace, I see a whiteness. It pulls my attention without disturbing this calmness, so I focus on it. The whiteness expands and surrounds me. Empty, yet comfortable, if starkly white.
I hold onto the white as in it is power. Power surges into my body as the white surrounds me. I’m expansive and growing. I’m bigger than I was and as I grow, I become connected to the world. I’m aware of the Druid’s attention, but it doesn’t matter. This is, I know in my heart, important.
The white wavers, shimmering, then a scream echoes through the space. I know that voice. I know that scream.
“Ahhhh,” the deep, male voice echoes through the whiteness and it shatters, falling in pieces.
I’m in a small space lit by torches. Glistening wet stones covered with moss and growing mold form the walls. There are shapes moving and then screams. Agonized cries of unbelievable pain. The vision becomes clearer and then I see him.
Duncan?
Duncan is bound to a table with ropes as thick as my wrist. The table is set at an angle against a wall. He’s shirtless, sweat and blood covering his chest. His face is swollen. Blood drips from his nose, mouth and ears. His hair is wet and dank, hanging in his eyes. He looks up and, unbelievably, he smiles.
“Is tha’ yuir best?” he asks, his words mushy as he forces them past his swollen and cracked lips. “My ma’ hits hard than that.”
A shadowy figure swings and the shadow becomes a fist that connects with Duncan’s face. His head is thrown to one side. Blood and spit fly in slow motion as time stops, freezing the scene in my mind’s eye.
“Duncan!” I scream and fall off the stick and land hard.
My chest clenches and I can’t get my breath. Panic rises as I struggle to inhale. I gasp but nothing comes as my lungs struggle to inflate. Terror pushes in and there is darkness at the edges of my vision, pushing in. I’m about to black out when I inhale at last. The air burns as it fills my lungs and I scramble to rise.
“Quinn,” the Druid calls, shuffling forward.
“Where is he?” I scream.
The grass is slick, and my hands slip. I face-plant into the dirt but there’s no time. They’re torturing him. Right now. I saw it. Heart pounding, I fight onto my hands and knees while looking around, but it’s only the clearing. The same clearing I’ve been training in without a sign of the small, damp chamber where they’re torturing Duncan.
I rise to my feet, breathing fast. My pulse pounds loud in my ears. I ball my hands into fists and turn in a circle, looking for something to attack. Duncan needs me.
The Druid stands implacable next to the stick. He’s hunching over his walking stick, head bowed but looking up and meeting my eyes. His mouth works like he’s chewing something over.
“A trap.”
“What?”
“It’s a trap,” he repeats, then harumphs and shakes his head.
