Fragments - Book One of the Missing

Chapter 39 - Taniel

Hours had passed, meanwhile Rowan had shown no signs of slowing down. If Taniel was being honest, it was a little terrifying. This must be what it was like to watch him in one of his paint fugues - completely unreachable.

Scooter had tried to get her to eat, and Taniel had tried to convince her to rest. Both requests went unacknowledged. Together they settled on the couch to watch and wait.

Taniel moved restlessly on the couch, trying to get comfortable. However, it seemed that was becoming increasingly unlikely as the tweed fabric itched the skin through his clothes. Remnants of last night's dream kept pushing through to the forefront of his mind. His hands still burned from the raging fire.

He thought of Twitch in the tunnel. How he didn't use his knives on him. Could that mean he was changing the dreams? Or was there another incident about to unfold. IF he was changing them, something would need to be done about the fire.

Scooter dozed off next to him, head lolling off to the side and drooling slightly. Taniel could not help but think he could be a cartoon. There was something comical about his gestures and mannerisms. He had the gift of lightening any mood, and Taniel didn't know if he could survive this world without him.

Rowan, Scooter. Hamza to a degree. Maybe Edie. The only ones he had left.

Instead of making fun of Scooter, Taniel let him sleep. He walked to his own partition and stared at the small room. The personal effects were sparse, but the journal on the overturned bucket serving as his nightstand was now overflowing with dreams and thoughts. But this was one dream he didn't think he could draw. He was afraid it would make it real. The only memorable facet was the all consuming fire anyway. It couldn't end well.

He chastised himself. He shouldn't be thinking about it. He rolled his shoulders back and moved on, forcing himself to think of something else.

The journal from his father caught his attention, poking out from underneath his mattress. He supposed he would have to read it eventually. With nothing else to do and no where else to go it seemed a good a time as any.

Gingerly he pulled the journal out, the worn leather smooth beneath his fingers. Holding it made him feel closer to his father, but his chest tightened at what he would learn in those pages. Sitting on the bed, where he could keep one eye on Rowan, he opened the front cover.

His dad had the same handwriting as Taniel - barely legible chicken scratch. A small smile pulled on Taniel's lips. Despite having to translate characters into legible English, he found himself immersed in his father's story. He curled his legs up to his chest, then laid flat on his stomach. Shifting every hour that Rowan wrote.

The world his father created was much more real than the one Hamza painted for them a few weeks ago, even if the journal was curated and each selection chosen from many.

He started by cataloguing his dreams back in his school days, beginning with how he met Taniel's mother. He picked her up for their first day with a bouquet of flowers -whites, yellows and purples all as wild as she was. They ambled a cliff walk, and spent hours talking of nothing. The journal depicted a woman much lovelier and fiercer than anything his father had ever mentioned, making his eyes burn to learn about the mother he had never met.

The journal was little more than just dreams, with particular passages meant to elucidate their lives for him. There were pages of developing their skills as a dreamer and a shield, much as he had with Hamza. She was able to build barriers, border alarms almost, to protect entire villages in the early rebellion. It was a huge strain on her energy, so she studied geography to make use of the surrounding landscapes and places she could pull her energy from—sources other than people. His father was a Dreamer, but not a Weaver. If his father wasn't a Weaver, could there still be a chance Taniel was?

The journal depicted the beginning of Auctor Darus's reign, and how his parents joined rebellion groups. After Darus targeted the rebellion, his parents decided to send him to safety. His father left Embla with Taniel. His mother staying behind to protect her people.

A single tear escaped his red-rimmed eyes. He must be tired. His family torn apart to save him, to give him a better life, and he let them down. Becoming a criminal and a low-life. How could his father keep all this from him?

From there, the journal became more a patchwork of dreams. His father dreamed of Taniel's mother often—in battle, injured, protecting the vulnerable. As far as he could tell from the dreams, albeit now long ago, she was still alive.

It seemed to be a work of words, not sketches like Taniel's own journal. But to Taniel, it was still art, and a thing to be treasured. The lone picture in the entire journal was on the last page. Rowan and Taniel, her hair flying out behind her, eyes piercing the viewer despite the lack of color. There were two batons strapped to her back, but her hands were free and ready to be used as the weapons they were. Beside her, Taniel was in a defensive position, one hand ready to throw the knife in his grip, the other on his hip ready to reload. And behind them, all around them, a terrible burning fire.

It was Taniel's dream. Stars, it was his dream.

Beneath the picture was the last thing his father had ever written: "Taniel, she is the key. Stars protect you both."

Taniel slammed the journal shut and squeezed his eyes, pretending for all the world that life was different.